


27

by atinystarlight



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Jung Wooyoung, Choking, Cockwarming if you squint, Dacryphilia, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Drug Use, Facials, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Death, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Objectification, Rimming, Spit Kink, Stoned Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, Top Choi San, and a pierced dick, but narcan saves lives people, hot alt twink woo, is this my agenda now, lots of piercings in this au, mention of toxic relationships, not sponsored by narcan, san has a split tongue, san is an ass man thru and thru
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29440677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atinystarlight/pseuds/atinystarlight
Summary: A jaded Wooyoung ekes out a meager living by working graveyards at a gas station mini-mart. One night, a guy his age overdoses on heroin on the bathroom floor. Wooyoung manages to save his life, but now he can’t seem to get rid of him. Thank god he gets an employee discount on cigarettes.As for San, hitting rock bottom might not be the worst thing after all.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 62
Kudos: 144





	1. just one fix

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: this is not meant to romanticize drug addiction or anything aight and if you're sensitive to overt drug use i would steer clear of this one. lots of heavy shit goes on but it does have a happy ending i promise  
>   
> 
> 
> chapter titles from this [playlist!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2oBi8OQ5QxqKezpAGyAg0g?si=QrGBo5ojTKiN-abRwXfe5Q)
> 
>   
>   
> 

  


  


✖

  


  


Every damn day was the same. 

Most of the time, anyway. 

Wooyoung leaned against the counter with his chin in his hand, staring off into space as he smacked his gum obnoxiously between his teeth. He absently picked at his nail polish, small flakes of black chipping off and falling onto the counter. It was 3am on a Tuesday, and he hadn’t had any customers for a solid hour or so. Working nights was a blessing and a curse—he didn’t have as many idiots to deal with—typically—and he was a night owl, but sometimes it was just so damn boring. 

Every day was _exactly_ the same. Like that Nine Inch Nails song—

  


  


_I believe I can see the future_

_'cause I repeat the same routine_

_I think I used to have a purpose_

_Then again,_

_that might have been a dream_

  


  


Yeah, that was relatable. Go to work, come home, smoke a bowl, watch tv, fall asleep, wake up, take a shower, go to work. Eat pizza, if his roommate-slash-best-friend Yeosang brought some home from the restaurant he worked for as a delivery guy, which was more often than not. Pizza five days a week sounded great on paper, but it got old really fast. Oh, well, free pizza was free pizza. He had a job, he wasn't homeless, and he wasn't starving to death, so he technically didn't have all that much to complain about, but _damn_ was his life boring these days. 

Dull.

No goals, no purpose, no real desire to have one. Wooyoung had friends, kind of, but his best friend Yeosang wasn’t really the going-out type. They smoked together when Yeosang wasn’t out delivering pizzas, but Wooyoung couldn’t remember the last time he actually went out and _did_ something. He used to go to shows a lot, gearing up for the pit by pregaming on forties and Mad Dog with Yunho and Mingi in the back of Mingi’s van, or sometimes he'd go out and help Hongjoong scour music shops for old, obscure vinyl records for his collection, but lately everyone all seemed to be caught up in their own shit. Life happened, he supposed. There weren’t any good bands playing recently, anyway. 

His job sucked, but Wooyoung was just glad to have a job at all. Even if it was a shitty, minimum wage, mini-mart cashier job, it allowed him to afford a shitty apartment with minimal roommates and enough money left over for beer, decent weed, and a Netflix subscription, which pretty much covered all his bases. Part of him considered the idea of going back and getting his GED, but it seemed like a pain in the ass for another day. He was never big on school in the first place, hence why he didn’t graduate. Well, that was part of it, and then there was the whole juvie incident, but that wasn’t exactly his fault. Not _entirely_. 

Ugh, thinking about it pissed him off. He tried his best not to, but sometimes it crept up on him. The memory made him nauseous, and a phantom ache worked its way deep into his bones at the thought of all the sleepless nights spent on that shitty, plastic mattress, his clothes soaked through with sweat and his head pounding. 

He hated thinking about it, because it always dredged up gruesome images from the deep recesses of his mind, ones of his ex-boyfriend's skull split open, leaking blood all over the dashboard of his '96 Honda Civic, eyes still open, staring straight through Wooyoung in the passenger seat.

It sent a shiver down his spine, and he focused on cracking his knuckles as a way to distract himself. His own mind wasn't always his friend.

Suddenly, the door swung open with a creak, setting off the friendly bell chime for the first time in an eternity. Thank god. Wooyoung snapped out of his thoughts, sliding his gaze toward the sound, not bothering to holler out a greeting like he was supposed to. Cheerful customer service wasn’t really his thing. It was, like, three in the morning, and half the people who came in were either drunk or high anyway. Or both. He just sat in silence, smacking his gum as usual. He desperately needed something to do before he went nuts.

A guy stumbled through the doors, dressed in all black from head to toe, features mostly obscured by the hood of his sweatshirt. He was a pretty young guy, from what Wooyoung could tell, and he didn’t seem all that interested in shopping. The guy headed straight for the bathroom, boots squeaking against the tile floors as he staggered down the hall. He didn’t even spare Wooyoung a glance. Nothing about him was particularly unusual, especially for the time of night, yet Wooyoung had an odd feeling about him. Call it a sixth sense or whatever, but something set off his spidey-senses.

 _Twenty bucks he's a junkie._

The odds were probably high, if his experience could speak for anything. No pun intended.

Not that he was being judgmental, but he’d worked there long enough to have developed a radar for that kind of thing. Most people coming into a mini-mart in the dead of night were either truckers looking for somewhere to piss or junkies looking for a place to shoot up. It happened all the time, always a stray needle or two left in the bathroom by the time his shift ended. Nothing out of the ordinary for such a rough part of town. 

Wooyoung didn’t really give a shit. He wasn't in any position to judge. As long as they weren’t trying to rob him, then so be it. He _had_ actually gotten a gun pulled on him one time, but the guy was so obviously bluffing that it was almost, well, sad. Poor dude looked about ready to piss his pants—he clearly wasn't the next Al Capone. Wooyoung had given him all $29 in the till, a laughably small amount of money to commit a felony over. Didn’t people know convenience stores kept their money in a safe? Idiots. Regardless, Wooyoung preferred _not_ to get robbed at work. Junkie beat robber any day.

Wooyoung watched the guy in black disappear around the corner and into the bathroom, and Wooyoung made a mental bet with himself over the likelihood he’d find a needle later. He went back to picking at his nail polish, humming Nine Inch Nails to himself over the overprocessed soft rock playing on the store’s radio. That was the one thing about the job he truly hated—not being able to control the music. He played shit on his phone sometimes, but he’d forgotten his charger and didn’t want to drain his battery. 

Five minutes passed, then ten, then twenty, and Wooyoung started to get a little worried. The guy still hadn’t come out of the bathroom yet. 

Wooyoung didn’t want to barge in on the off chance he really was just taking a shit or something, but his instincts told him otherwise. A woman overdosed in the bathroom last year while he was on shift, and she’d nearly suffocated on her own vomit by the time he unlocked the door. It wasn’t pretty, and Wooyoung didn't want to repeat the incident, thank you very much. Still, they kept a box of Narcan around just in case, and Wooyoung grabbed it and made his way down the hall. He hesitated outside the bathroom door, listening for any sign of movement from inside. It wasn't uncommon for truckers to use the bathrooms to shave or brush their teeth, but this guy hadn't looked like a trucker, and there weren't even any cars parked outside. 

Wooyoung waited a few seconds, straining his ears to pick up on even the tiniest of sounds. No sink running, no shoes shuffling, nothing. Wooyoung really hoped he was just being paranoid, but deep down he knew something wasn't right. His sketchy-convenience-store-worker instincts were tingling hardcore, and his boss would kill him if he let someone die in his bathroom. Not that it was Wooyoung's fault if it happened, but still. Chewing on his bottom lip, Wooyoung rapped his fist against the bathroom door. He waited a few seconds for a response. Still nothing. 

“Hello?” Wooyoung called out, giving another knock. He pressed his ear to the door, listening for any sounds of movement from within. 

Still nothing. 

“Shit,” Wooyoung muttered under his breath. He knocked more aggressively, banging his fist against the door until it shook. “Hello? Anyone in there?” 

He fished in his pocket for the store’s keyring, which jangled in his fingers as he positioned the bathroom key inside the lock. He gave it an apprehensive twist, cracking the door open with a weathered creak. “I’m coming in, ok?” he called, slowly pushing the door open and peeking his head inside. 

Passed out on the floor was a body clad in all black, back slumped against the wall, head hanging limply forward. His right sleeve was pushed up past his elbow, his inner arm bruised with track marks in deep reds and purples, embellishing miscellaneous tattoos that looked to be the handiwork of someone wasted off their ass. The grimy floor around him was littered with damning paraphernalia—an orange-capped syringe, cotton balls, a metal spoon, a lighter, a rubber tourniquet—all the tell-tale signs that confirmed Wooyoung’s suspicions. 

Heroin. 

Called it. 

“Hey, can you hear me?” Wooyoung demanded, dropping to his knees beside the guy, grabbing his shoulder and giving it a good shake. “Hey, wake up, man. Hey!”

He didn’t stir, not even a little. 

_Shit, not good._

“Hello? Hey!” Wooyoung raised his voice, but the guy didn’t respond. His head lolled to the side as Wooyoung shook him, dead weight on his shoulders. 

Definitely an overdose. 

"Damn it!" Trying not to panic, Wooyoung raked his knuckles across the guy’s sternum, rubbing hard to try to rouse him awake, but no dice.

_Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck._

Wooyoung shoved all the shit on the floor aside, maneuvering the guy to his back. Was he breathing? Wooyoung couldn’t really tell. He hunched closer, listening for lung sounds, but there was only silence. Was it his imagination, or was his chest not moving?

_Oh god—ok, don't panic._

Wooyoung had witnessed an overdose before, the time that woman had choked on her own vomit and nearly suffocated, but all he had to do in that situation was flip her onto her side. This was way more serious, and it scared the crap out of him. He was no doctor—hell, he was a fucking cashier—but Narcan was supposed to be easy enough for anyone to use, right? He didn't know CPR or anything, and there was no way in hell he was about to kiss some random junkie.

Wooyoung held his ear to the guy's chest, silently pleading for any sign of life.

Shit, he wasn’t breathing? Or... maybe _barely_ , but still—things weren't looking too good.

“Fuck!” he cursed, ripping open the box of Narcan. He shook out one of the doses into his palm, positioning it between his fingers like a syringe. Taking deep breaths, he tipped the guy's head back and sprayed it into his nose, praying it would reverse the damage in time. In the meantime, he dialed 911, explaining the situation to the dispatcher on the other end. They were sending an ambulance over, and hopefully the naloxone would start taking effect before they arrived. They said he could give another dose if the guy didn’t wake up after three minutes, and Wooyoung had zero idea how long it had been. Every second felt like hours as he waited for him to move.

 _Fuck it_ , he thought, shaking the second dose out of the box. He had it positioned between his fingers when he heard a noise. 

A noise—thank god. A solid breath. Well, more like a wheeze, but it was better than nothing. 

“Hey!” Wooyoung breathed, relief washing over him at the notion of the guy _not_ being dead. “Hey, can you hear me? Wake up!”

“Mm,” came the small, weak grunt from his throat. 

“Wake up, wake up!” Wooyoung commanded, shaking him with a hand on his sternum. 

“Ugh—” he groaned feebly. He tried opening his eyes to some extent, which was a step in the right direction. 

“You scared the shit out of me, man! You think I get paid enough for this?” Wooyoung scolded, lightly smacking him on the chest in an effort to keep him conscious. It seemed to work, eliciting a small groan of discomfort.

Black hair splayed across the stranger’s eyes, in stark contrast to the sickly, pallid shade of his skin. He was young, probably not far from Wooyoung’s age. Early twenties for sure. He looked half dead, with crescents under his eyes so dark they looked more like bruises, and cheekbones that looked about ready to tear right through his skin. A silver ring shined on his lower lip, somehow accentuating the lifelessness of the rest of his features. He _was_ half dead, considering he practically had been just minutes ago. 

It was a little chilling how easily Wooyoung could have been in his position just a few short years ago. Sure, he’d never had a needle in his arm, but odds are he’d still be chopping his breakfast on a mirror if it hadn’t been for his little wake-up call. It was still a bitter subject, but saving a guy his age from an overdose really put things into perspective. Wooyoung was one of the lucky ones, unlike a good chunk of his friends. Unlike this guy—who’d had an awfully close call. Wooyoung might not have had a diploma or a well-paying job, but he was alive—and clean—and that’s what counted. 

“Hey, you with me?” 

“Ngh—wha—“ It was almost a word, which brought Wooyoung some relief. 

“Here, can you sit up?” Wooyoung slid his hands under his shoulders, helping him sit up against the wall. The guy seemed alive, at least, and somewhat aware. “I called 911, they’re on their way.”

“N-no—that—“ he slurred, suddenly adamant on trying to get up. 

Wooyoung gripped his shoulders to keep him seated. “Relax, it’s not the cops. You OD’d—you nearly died on the floor, dude.” 

“I-I did…?” The guy blinked confusedly, eyelids heavy and fluttering. He looked at Wooyoung, drowsy and out of it, but clearly somewhat cognizant. 

“What’s your name?” Wooyoung prompted, trying to keep him talking. He was no first responder, but it seemed like the right course of action. The Narcan should have reversed whatever damage the opiates had done, effectively killing his high, but it couldn’t hurt to be on the safe side. 

“San,” he mumbled. He frowned, squinting at the Quickie Mart name tag clipped onto Wooyoung’s black hoodie. “Wooyoung…?”

“San? Ok, San, I gave you Narcan, but there’s a chance it could wear off before the heroin does. That’s what you took, right? Not fentanyl or anything? They told me to stay with you until—” 

San’s eyes went wide, a horrified expression on his pallid face like he’d just seen a ghost. Was he worried they were sending the cops? It’s not like they’d arrest him if he was taken to the hospital, but he couldn’t blame the guy for being paranoid. Still, Wooyoung didn’t want to be responsible for someone dying on his shift. 

San clumsily scrambled to his feet in a panic, shoving Wooyoung’s hands away when he tried to steady him. He made a frantic, staggering effort toward the door, not bothering to salvage any of the shit he’d left strewn across the floor. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, ripping open the door. 

“Hey, wait a sec—” Wooyoung called after him. Wooyoung managed to catch San by the elbow as he practically fell into the hallway. “Seriously, you’re not gonna get arrested, just let them—”

“Get off!” San snarled, reeling around and yanking his arm from Wooyoung’s grasp. Wooyoung visibly flinched, taken aback by the sudden display of aggression. San's eyes were alight with rage—no, not rage— _fear_. Panic. What the hell was he so scared of? Wooyoung decided he'd rather not know. 

San turned, angrily pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. Wooyoung gaped at him in silence, letting his arm fall to his side, watching him stumble down the hallway toward the entrance. The greeting bell gave a friendly _ding dong!_ as the door slammed shut, and just like that, he was gone. His hoodied form melted away into the night, leaving Wooyoung with a mess to clean up and some explaining to do to the paramedics. Man, cashiering really was a thankless job. 

_Fucking junkies._

Well, at least no one died on his shift. Sighing, Wooyoung stepped outside for a much needed smoke. The pack was light in his hands as he slipped it from his pocket. Only one left—thank god he got an employee discount on cigarettes.

  


  


✖

  


  


An uneventful few days followed the OD incident. More like an _especially_ uneventful few days. It was midnight on a Friday, where the hell was everybody? The trickle of customers was oddly slow, maybe due to the shitty weather. It had been downpouring all night, the sound of heavy rain hammering against the roof practically lulling him to sleep at some points. Wooyoung sighed, smacking his gum in annoyance. 

Wooyoung thumbed through his playlist, settling for something with a rabid blast beat to hopefully shock his brain into awakeness. Napalm Death, perfect. He turned it up, sliding his phone onto the counter and leaning back into his shitty chair with another bored sigh. He bounced his leg in time to the frontman’s rhythmic screaming, thumping his ratty old Doc Martens against the floor. One looked close to coming untied, so he leaned down to fix it. 

The door chime went off, cheerfully signaling the arrival of a customer. Fucking _finally._ He secured his shoelace tightly, leaning back into his seat. The customer had disappeared down one of the aisles, and Wooyoung could hear the sound of a fridge door being cracked open at the other end of the store. Wooyoung picked at his nails as he waited, absently chipping off bits of black from around the edges. He really needed to repaint them. 

There was a soft _clunk_ as the base of a Rockstar can met the counter. Wooyoung turned his music down and rose from his seat, shuffling over to the register to cash them out. He droned out his usual catchphrase with all the enthusiasm he could muster, which wasn’t much. 

“Is that everything—” 

Wooyoung’s eyes slid up from the can to greet the customer, but the familiar face made him halt in his tracks, ceasing his gum-chewing. 

Oh, great.

That junkie from the other night. What was his name? San? Yeah, that sounded right.

“Hey,” San greeted with a friendly smile. “Pack of Camel Blues too, please. Ninety nines.”

San was definitely more… _alive_ than last time. Clearly he’d lived to tell the tale. Wooyoung wasn’t expecting to see him again after he’d screamed in his face and bolted out the door after Wooyoung had so kindly saved his life, and he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. Surprised, at the very least. Wooyoung was especially surprised that he had the guts to come back at all after what happened. Mini-marts were a dime a dozen, so why this one? What a weird guy.

Wooyoung blinked at him for a few seconds. “… San, right?” Wooyoung asked with a skeptical glance, turning around to grab a pack of Camels. He tossed them onto the counter next to San’s drink. 

“Oh, you remembered?” 

“You made quite the impression.” 

“Yeah… about that,” San huffed out a sheepish laugh. “I wanted to say thanks, and sorry for the, uh… mess. And for leaving so suddenly. I didn’t want to deal with cops, just in case. I, uh, kinda have a warrant out for my arrest.” 

“Ah. I’m shocked,” Wooyoung said dryly. 

San shrugged. “It’s nothing bad. I don’t rob cute cashiers or anything.” 

Wooyoung scoffed. “Only ones that aren’t cute?”

San laughed, dimples appearing on either side of his face. “Nah, they want me for ‘failure to appear in court’ or whatever. Kinda ghosted the judge.” He threw up air quotes, as if ‘failure to appear in court’ wasn’t an actual crime.

“Ooh, what a rebel,” Wooyoung joked as he scanned the items on the counter. The machine beeped, flashing the total on the screen. “ID?”

San dug around in his pocket for his wallet, his black jeans damp from the pouring rain, and Wooyoung noticed a chain rattling against his hip as he pulled it out. Of course he would have a wallet chain. He wiggled his ID card from the slot, handing it over to Wooyoung with a smirk. “Want my number, too?”

Dear god. Was this guy really serious? 

Wooyoung raised his eyebrows, giving San a quick, tastefully judgemental up-and-down. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Yes,” San grinned proudly.

Wooyoung scoffed as he took the card. His birthday read 07/10/1999, making him just a few months older than Wooyoung himself. The card itself was banged up, the plastic coating peeling off the corners like he’d used it to break into something. The photo looked old, showcasing a version of San with tanned skin and a fuller face, quite opposite from the one standing in front of him. 

“That’ll be $9.12,” Wooyoung said plainly, handing the card back. “So… you thought OD’ing in the bathroom would be a good way to get my attention?”

“Did it work?”

Wooyoung laughed. He had to admire San’s straightforwardness, somewhat. He leaned against the counter, smacking his gum between his teeth with a smirk. “Sorry, rock bottom isn’t really my type.” 

San hissed in a breath as if the comment stung, but his grin said otherwise. “Ouch, pulling no punches. I see how it is,” he said with an amused nod. “What _is_ your type, then?” 

_Not you_ , Wooyoung scoffed internally. 

San placed a couple crumpled bills on the counter, along with a small pile of change he’d dug out of his pocket. He gave exact change, either to be nice or to prolong their encounter for as long as possible. Wooyoung wasn’t sure which. He picked up the coins, shooting San a glance as he dropped them into the till. 

“You know it’s my job to be nice to you, right?” he deadpanned. 

“Then you’re not very good at your job.”

Wooyoung laughed, flipping his hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, you’ve got that right. I don’t get paid nearly enough to be playing doctor.” 

San hummed. “I was shocked when I woke up, you know. I thought for sure an angel had come to take me away.”

Wooyoung visibly winced. God, that was an awful line. Everything about San screamed nothing-to-lose, which would have been impressive if not for the circumstances. Wooyoung couldn’t fault him for trying, though. 

“I was also shocked when you woke up. Thought I was gonna have to give a statement to the police,” Wooyoung responded dryly, tapping his bitten nails on the counter. 

“It was a rough day,” San shrugged, and something in his expression told Wooyoung he wasn’t lying. He tore the plastic off his new pack of cigarettes, crumpling up the wrapper and shoving it in his pocket. He shimmied one out, placing it between his lips for later.

Wooyoung was almost curious what he meant by that, but not curious enough to ask. Every day was a rough day for San, by the looks of it. He had that broken, jaded-beyond-his-years vibe, which Wooyoung could surely relate to, and not just because of his job. Despite that, San had a radiant, dimpled smile, glimmering with a childlike innocence under layers and layers of damage. It was kinda sad, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but wonder what he’d been like before turning to drugs. 

Wooyoung chose not to respond. “Receipt?” he asked, which subtly translated to _are you gonna get the hell out or not?_

San reached out a hand, and Wooyoung handed him the receipt. “Thanks,” he smirked around his cigarette, blatantly checking Wooyoung out before turning to leave. “See ya, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, grabbing his phone and turning his music back up, letting the violent blast beat radiate through his shitty phone speaker over the sound of the door chime. He turned his back to the door, not bothering to watch San leave. He didn’t want to give him any indication that he was interested, because he really, _really_ wasn’t. To answer San’s earlier question, Wooyoung’s ideal type was someone who _didn’t_ look like a walking red flag. 

Wooyoung really needed a smoke break.

  


  


✖

  


  


San was a persistent motherfucker. 

... Which was a nice way of saying he was fucking _annoying._

“Black Flag and DRI? Good taste in music, that’s kinda hot.”

Sighing, Wooyoung turned to face him. He was leaning up against the counter in his typical smug fashion. Red Bull today instead of Rockstar, and his black hoodie was missing, his thin frame sporting a loose old Sepultura tee, his arms showcasing an array of god awful tattoos. There was a pinup girl wearing a pirate hat on his forearm, a skull with melting eyes on the other, some kind of flower on his bicep, and a few more that Wooyoung couldn’t quite see without staring for too long. Despite having a good amount of ink, he looked like he’d never set foot in an actual tattoo shop in his life. 

Was that… supposed to be a bottle of Olde English?

Ok, he had to hand it to him—that was pretty funny. 

And, of course, there were the lovely collections of track marks decorating the crooks of his elbows, blooming all shades of yellows and reds, some obviously fresh. His recent wakeup call hadn’t been much of one after all, it seemed. Not that it was any of Wooyoung’s business what San did with his time. He was just another regular at his store, one of many passing faces he’d grown accustomed to seeing. Though, as far as regulars went, San was one of the more entertaining ones. Entertaining, but annoying. To be fair, his competition was pretty weak. 

It had been a little over a week since the fateful OD incident, and San was apparently making it a ritual to come bother Wooyoung with his guerilla flirting tactics on an almost nightly basis. He always found new ways to compliment him, everything from his eyes to his hair to nails, even if they weren’t particularly deserving of a compliment. Wooyoung had to credit him for tenacity, if nothing else. Yesterday it was _‘oh, I see you have eyeliner on today—trying to impress me?’_ The day before that, _'oh, your hair is down today, it looks nice.'_

Today, it was warm enough for him to shed his usual hoodie and putz around in just a t-shirt, revealing the tattoos that sat just above the creases of each elbow. On his left was the DRI mascot frozen into a perpetual mosh, and on his right were four black rectangles staggered to form Black Flag’s simple yet iconic logo. San eyed them with a smile, then slid his gaze back up to Wooyoung’s face, pushing his Red Bull over the counter. 

“You a fan?” Wooyoung asked, taking the can and rolling it under the scanner. He didn’t even have to ask before turning around to grab a fresh pack of Camel Blues, running it under the scanner and tossing it into San’s awaiting hands. He knew the drill by now. The guy smoked like a chimney—how he could afford it on top of his other habits was a mystery. San grinned at Wooyoung’s preemptiveness. 

“For sure!” San flipped his wrist around, showing off a small Black Flag tattoo that matched Wooyoung’s own. Wooyoung knew plenty of people who had one, it didn’t exactly mean they were kismet or anything. San seemed to think otherwise. “Huge fan. We should go to a punk show sometime. I have a few friends who do house shows pretty often,” San said, casually leaning against the counter as he waited for his total. 

“A date, huh?” Wooyoung scoffed. “Pass.”

San raised his eyebrows in surprise. “C’mon, you don’t do house shows?” 

“Oh, all the time,” Wooyoung smirked. San seemed to think it was a fun game when Wooyoung rejected him, taking it in stride with a bright, dimpled grin. Maybe Wooyoung was being a little mean about it, but most people really would have taken the hint by now. San wasn’t dumb, just persistant. He knew Wooyoung would never say ‘yes’ to going out with him, but he still tried. 

“Mm, I see,” San hummed. He seemed to get over it quickly, smiling as he let his gaze flicker across Wooyoung’s face. “You look cute with a septum. Any other piercings I should know about?” 

Implying _‘you should let me find out for myself.’_ San would have had mad game if his life was a little more together. What a shame. 

Wooyoung laughed, deciding to humor him a little. He stuck his tongue out, biting it between his teeth to reveal a silver ball atop the end of a barbell. San raised his eyebrows, lips falling open in pleasant surprise. Wooyoung only flashed it for a second, quickly pulling it back into his mouth as if nothing had happened. Truthfully, he did have a couple others, but there was no way in hell he was about to lift his shirt to show San his nipples. 

“How ‘bout you? Any _others?”_ Wooyoung mimicked, playfully flirting back. He had no intention of taking San up on any of his offers, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the attention just a little. Teasing San was starting to become a nightly ritual at this point. 

“I plead the fifth,” San said with a wink. 

What the hell was _that_ supposed to mean? Not that Wooyoung was curious or anything. Well, maybe just a little. How could he not be?

Wooyoung’s jaw dropped. “Wait, seriously? No way.”

“I guess you’ll have to see for yourself if I’m lying,” San smirked, nonchalantly reaching into his pocket, the silver wallet chain connected to his belt knocking softly against the edge of the counter as he slipped it out. 

Yeah, right. That was one mystery that would just have to go unsolved forever. He was probably just saying it to fuck with Wooyoung anyway. Then again, San did seem like the kind of guy to go out and get his dick pierced. Whatever that said about him. 

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “You know what they say—’never trust a junkie,’” he teased, quoting lyrics from _Just One Fix_.

“Ah—Ministry? I’m gonna fall in love with you if you aren’t careful.” 

Wow. How straight-up of him.

“Pfft, then I guess you better get in line, pal,” Wooyoung scoffed, taking the wrinkled bills after San had finished placing them on the counter. 

“Hard to get, alright. I like it,” San nodded, as if impressed.

San’s resilience was actually quite amusing. He had thick skin, that’s for sure. Wooyoung didn’t _actually_ have a line of suitors vying for his affection, but San didn’t need to know that. He did get the occasional creepy dude asking for his number, or blatantly staring at his ass, but none were quite as dedicated as San was. Women would even try to flirt with him every now and then, which was hilarious yet flattering. It was nice to know he had options. 

“What, you saying you thought I looked easy?” Wooyoung teased, straightening out the bills and adding them to the till. Exact change again. What a sweetheart. 

“No, no. Someone as pretty as you must have options, that’s all,” San shrugged dismissively. Funny, Wooyoung was just thinking the same thing. Though, his options were pretty limited to greasy truckers, obliviously heterosexual women, and, now, shamelessly infatuated junkies. Wonderful. When was the last time he actually went on a date? And his last real boyfriend was… well, nevermind. He’d rather not think about that. 

“Got that right.” Wooyoung pushed the drawer of the till shut, stifling a grin. He tossed his bangs out of his eyes, shooting San an amused glance. Man, his hair was getting way too long. He’d been keeping it tied up more often, but he’d been out the door in a rush today.

San crossed his arms, leaning his hip against the counter. He looked up at the ceiling with a thoughtful gaze, nodding in contemplation. 

“So… Ministry, huh?”

  


  


✖

  


  


Oddly enough, Wooyoung kind of looked forward to San’s visits. He was good enough company, despite the sour circumstances which led them to meet. They had a lot in common, and their conversations sometimes stretched on for quite a while before San would have to leave to let Wooyoung tend to his other customers. Sometimes, San would even have a smoke outside while he waited for the store to quiet down, coming back inside to pick up their conversation where it left off. 

They talked about music, mostly—favorite bands, most hated bands, craziest shows they’d been to. They argued over whether or not Iron Maiden sucked, or which Metallica album went the hardest. The answer was obvious—Ride the Lightning, but San was a die-hard Kill ‘Em All loyalist. Sometimes they’d argue over shit until they were practically screaming at each other, but always with a smile, never in actual anger. San was still flirty as hell, naturally, but he’d toned it down to where it was slightly less incessant. Slightly. 

They hadn’t talked about the “incident” since two weeks ago when it happened, but it was clear that San was still using. It wasn’t Wooyoung’s place to comment, not that he wanted to. Wooyoung knew better than anyone what addiction was like, and he knew when someone’s advice wasn’t wanted. He was willing to bet San wouldn’t appreciate Wooyoung trying to counsel him on why shooting up was bad. Hell, what would Wooyoung’s advice even be— _I got clean by force, and you can too?_

Yeah, because _that_ would work. 

Some nights, San was even high when he came to the store. It might not have been obvious to anyone else, but Wooyoung could just tell. He’d look a little more tired than usual, his eyelids heavy and his smile delayed. It would take him a little longer to count out his change, or to react to something Wooyoung had said. He’d lean on the counter a little more, shuffle his feet a little more, space out a little more. Wooyoung knew. 

Tonight was one of those nights. 

“Twenty seven cents is your change. Receipt?” Wooyoung recited, more as a joke than anything. Obviously San didn’t want his receipt—unless it had Wooyoung’s number on it, anyway. San held out his hand, catching the coins as Wooyoung dropped them into his palm. San usually gave exact change, the fact that he hadn’t was a dead giveaway. 

San grinned as he looked down at the coins in his hand. “Hey, twenty seven is my lucky number. It’s a sign—I’m manifesting something good.” 

San poured the coins into his other hand, freeing up his right one to show Wooyoung the numbers ‘27’ tattooed across the knuckles of his index and middle fingers. There was something on the back of his hand, too—a compass, now that he’d gotten a good look at it. Not just that, but he could see that his knuckles were bruised, scraped and scabbed over like he'd been in a fight recently. Wooyoung didn't pry.

“Yeah? Like what? And why ‘27?’”

“Hm, maybe I manifested you,” San gave a quick, flirty eyebrow raise. “And I’m not really sure. It’s a number I see everywhere, always have. It’s kinda spooky. See, like now.” He rattled the change in his other hand, as if he was offering some kind of proof.

“Uh-huh. Not like I just work here or anything,” Wooyoung snorted. He wasn’t really into all that spiritual, new age-y stuff. He was way too much of a skeptic. 

“You don’t believe in shit like that?” San dumped the coins into his wallet, then stashed it back into his jeans pocket. He cracked open his Red Bull and leaned against the counter, lifting the can to his lips and taking a hefty swig. Red Bull at one in the morning—Wooyoung prayed for San’s sleep schedule. Well, not that Wooyoung was any better. 

“Nah. If manifesting shit really worked, then why am I still a cashier?” _And why are you still an addict?_

Wooyoung decided not to say that aloud. 

“So that you could meet me and save my life? The fates have their way, man,” San shrugged. Wooyoung was a little taken aback—he wasn’t expecting San to bring that up again. 

Wooyoung crossed his arms over his chest, smacking his gum with a coy grin. “So you would have just manifested the Narcan if I hadn’t given it to you?”

“Maybe that _was_ me manifesting it. You never know.” 

“Mhm. I manifested a junkie to come bother me while I work every day,” Wooyoung nodded, eyebrows furrowed in sarcastic thoughtfulness. 

“Exactly. You’re welcome.” San gave him a finger gun snap, then took another sip of his Red Bull. “What about you, any lucky numbers?”

Wooyoung thought for a moment, but nothing came to mind. “How about ‘sixty nine?’” he decided. 

“Classic. Though, if you’d said ‘no,’ then I would have said, ‘how ‘bout I give you mine?’” San gave himself a proud smile, like he’d waited all his life to say that. 

“And how many times has that line worked?”

“Depends on your answer.”

“Hmm… no,” Wooyoung chirped after pretending to mull it over for a couple seconds. 

San pretended to count on his fingers. “Then… zero. Eh, worth a shot.”

“So, what, are you aiming to be part of the ‘27 Club’ too?” Wooyoung joked lightly. 

“Dunno if I’ll even make it that long,” San smiled, but his eyes betrayed something a little somber. Cynical, even, which was rare for him. 

As far as drug addicts went, San had to be the most optimistic one Wooyoung had ever met. So much so that Wooyoung often forgot how fucked San’s life truly was, which was a little bit scary. He was good at putting up a mask, it seemed. Was it just an innocent bit of dark humor, or did he really think he wouldn't make it to his twenty seventh birthday? For as much as they talked, Wooyoung hardly knew anything about him, and vice versa. Wooyoung could respect that—he was also very private when it came to his own shit. 

“Damn, that was a little dark,” Wooyoung laughed, despite knowing it wasn’t really a joke. 

San shrugged. “I mean, I’ve had a couple pretty close calls already. Just being realistic.” 

San didn’t strike him as the realistic type, considering he was just talking about having a magic number, but okay. Wooyoung supposed he had a point—San _had_ come awfully close to dying on the bathroom floor. Honestly, it was a miracle that Wooyoung even got to him in time, considering he was hardly even breathing. Any later, and, well… things might have turned out differently. Wooyoung suppressed a shudder at the thought. 

“Do you ever think about, y’know,” Wooyoung hesitated a moment. “... checking into a clinic, or something?”

San’s body language immediately went cold, and Wooyoung regretted bringing it up. He knew this would happen, yet for some reason he felt the need to pry. Whoops. 

“Rehab?” San scoffed, averting his gaze as he took another sip of his drink. “Tried that.”

“Not rehab, just, like… somewhere you can get your hands on a prescription. Like suboxone, or methadone, or viv—” Wooyoung cut himself off. “Or, um, something like that.” 

San stared at him for a couple seconds, sporting an odd expression. “Vivitrol?” 

Wooyoung cleared his throat. “... Yeah.” 

It was silent for a few beats, San’s eyes burning holes into his face. San finally averted his gaze, and Wooyoung let out a breath when he seemed to move on. “I used to go to a methadone clinic. You piss dirty, they kick you out.”

Wooyoung nodded silently, unsure what to say. Drugs are bad? No shit. San wasn’t an idiot. Just the opposite, actually—he struck Wooyoung as a really smart guy. He was clever, always quick with something to make Wooyoung laugh, and he was practically a walking encyclopedia of everything to do with thrash metal. It was really quite impressive. 

Telling a heroin addict that dope was bad was like telling someone with diabetes that they shouldn't eat sugar—they’d stare at you like an idiot. Not a single addict on the fucking planet _wanted_ to be one, but it was still frustrating. What did Wooyoung care, though? He and San were one notch above being strangers, it wasn’t like Wooyoung was in any position to lecture him. Maybe he just didn’t want to have to spray Narcan up his nose again. San was an adult, he could figure shit out on his own. 

Though… there was one question burning in Wooyoung’s mind, unwanted, unpleasant—

Did San overdose _on purpose?_

Wooyoung remembered how furious San had been that night after waking up, his confused, disoriented expression twisting into one of anger as he came to. Looking back on it, he almost seemed like an entirely different person. That was the only time Wooyoung had ever seen San look angry, and it almost seemed like a fever dream by now. Not just angry—he'd been shaken beyond belief, his eyes betraying something Wooyoung couldn't place. Even now, despite having a better grasp on San's personality, he still had no clue what that was about. Wooyoung forced his morbid curiosity to the back of his mind, consciously reminding himself it was none of his business. 

Wooyoung shifted his weight between his legs, struggling with trying to come up with some way to clear the tension in the air. Whatever this atmosphere was, Wooyoung hated it. 

After a long, uncomfortable moment, Wooyoung cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he muttered. 

San straight up _glared_ at him, and Wooyoung genuinely felt his stomach drop for a moment before San’s cold expression melted into a shit-eating grin. “Make it up to me with a date?” he grinned around the lip of the can.

_This motherfucker._

“Wooow, now you’re manipulating me?” Wooyoung laughed, anxiety thankfully melting away as he realized San was only joking… hopefully. 

San gave a coy, one-shoulder shrug. “Hey, desperate times. Gotta pull out all the stops.”

“Don’t you have other cashiers to flirt with?” 

“Why, you jealous?” San slid a cig from his new pack, quirking a brow as he placed it between his lips. It knocked against the silver ring as he spoke, beckoning Wooyoung’s gaze downward. 

As Wooyoung rolled his eyes, a bright smile spread across San’s face, dimples appearing on either side. The weird sadness in his expression seemed to leave, replaced with the sunny look Wooyoung was used to, despite the dope in his system weighing down his eyelids a little. Wooyoung couldn’t deny the relief he felt. He much preferred San smiling—god knows he needed to. 

Besides, San was his favorite regular—he didn’t like seeing him look so sad. When San had become his 'favorite regular,’ he wasn’t really sure, but he must have earned the title somewhere along the way. 

“You wish,” Wooyoung said, stifling a grin.

  


  


✖

  


  


On a technical level, it was weird for someone to come into a mini-mart almost every night like clockwork just to chat with the cashier. It was weird for someone to smoke so many cigarettes or go through so many cans of Rockstar that they had to visit the same exact mini-mart _every_ single night. It was weird. Definitely not normal behavior.

Right? 

Now, Wooyoung was sitting there thinking how weird it was that San _hadn’t_ come in. Four nights in a row without so much of a glimpse of him, which, in San-time, was probably an eternity. But what did Wooyoung know? They’d only known each other for a month. No—not even. He still had no idea what San did outside of his allotted go-bother-Wooyoung hours. Aside from getting high on smack, that is. 

San had mentioned something about 'bouncing around a lot,' which probably meant he couch-surfed, but hadn’t elaborated any further. He knew San didn’t have a car, and that his license was suspended anyway. He had a warrant out for his arrest for skipping out on court. What for, Wooyoung wasn’t sure. He didn’t have a job, yet he somehow had enough money for a new pack of Camel Blues every night. 

Honestly, that was about it. There was more about San that Wooyoung _didn’t_ know, come to think about it. Like, for instance… where was he? 

Not that he was worried or anything, but…

Yeah, he was worried. 

It was just weird, that was all. 

Wooyoung hoped it wasn’t because of what he’d said the other day. Unless, of course, San was absent because he’d suddenly decided to go check himself into an inpatient rehab, but Wooyoung highly doubted it. Was San upset at Wooyoung for prying into his life? He hadn’t seemed that upset at the time, but maybe he was, and he was just hiding it well. Or maybe Wooyoung was just taking it super personally for no reason and it actually had nothing to do with him. 

He couldn’t help it. Without San there to break up the monotony of his stale job, Wooyoung was bored as hell. San’s incessant flirting was pretty much the only thing he had to look forward to these days. 

Wow, that sounded sad. He really needed to start getting out more. 

Maybe he should have given San his phone number after all. That way, he could at least text him and ask if he was still alive, instead of blindly hoping he hadn’t gone off and overdosed again. Wooyoung was definitely just being paranoid, but he couldn’t rule it out as a possibility. Damn him for getting too attached. Damn him for being a little too invested in the well-being of someone who merely came to him for their cigarette supply. 

Sighing, Wooyoung turned off his Spotify, checked the time, and shoved his phone in his pocket. 2:24, ass-o-clock in the morning. His last customer had stopped by forty three minutes ago, and the one before that another forty. It was hammering down rain again, and the odds of someone coming in soon were low, so he decided it was high time for a smoke before he ended up picking off the last remaining bits of his already horribly chipped polish. Sad little flecks of black clung to the tips of his fingernails, which were chewed to all hell. It was a bad habit, really. 

His old Docs squeaked against the floor as he stood up, the shitty swivel-chair groaning in protest beneath him. Wooyoung shrugged his worn leather jacket on for an extra layer of warmth, given it was cooler than usual out and rainy as fuck. There was an overhang outside that kept the water out, but it leaked, and he’d rather not risk getting wet before the end of his shift. The last thing he needed was to get sick and end up missing work. Yeosang would kill him if came up short on rent again.

As he was slipping on his jacket, the doorbell chimed. Wooyoung looked up, a little surprised to see Jongho, the store’s assistant manager. He was over an hour early, which was odd. Wooyoung greeted him with a wave, followed by a confused head-tilt. 

“Hey, Jongho. I thought you weren’t coming until later?” Wooyoung called as Jongho aggressively thumped his wet shoes against the floor mat.

“Huh? Seonghwa told me you were off at 2:30. You’re covering a shift, right?” 

“Yeah, until 3:30.”

“Oh. Shit, he must have mixed it up when he asked me to come in,” Jongho sighed, looking down at his phone as if to double check. 

“It’s cool. I can leave early if you want, since you’re already here and all.”

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna cut your hours short or anything.” 

“Nah, it’s fine, it was an extra shift. I volunteered. I was actually just about to go have a smoke, anyway.” 

“Oh, ok. Thanks, Wooyoung. Sorry about that.”

“All good,” Wooyoung said with another wave of his hand. He was actually kinda thankful to be off, since he was bored as hell, and the sound of the rain against the roof was making him lose his damn mind. “Have a good night, man.”

He clocked out, patted his pockets to ensure that he had all his belongings, then fist-bumped Jongho as he slipped out the door. Wooyoung placed a cig between his lips, fishing around in his pockets for his lighter as he stepped around to the side of the building. The overhang kept most of the rain out, but he could feel a few heavy drops rolling down his shoulders where they slipped through the cracks. He shivered a little as he lit the end of his smoke. There was a breeze, so he had to cup his hand around the tip, forming a shield to block it out. It caught after a few tries, and Wooyoung took a long drag, sighing out a thick puff of gray as he stashed his lighter. 

"... Fuck," came an irritated hiss, just loud enough for Wooyoung to hear.

A figure in his peripheral caught his attention, making him turn. There was someone crouched on the pavement at the end of the building, face obscured by the black hood pulled up over his head, back leaned up against the wall as he cupped his hand around the tip of a cigarette. Wooyoung could see his thumb flicking the wheel of a cheap lighter over and over, producing sparks but no flame. The cigarette remained cold, hanging pathetically from his lips without a trace of smoke. The lighter was obviously dead, and after a few futile moments of trying, he chucked it into the parking lot with a frustrated curse. 

“Fuck!” he spat, the lighter splashing anticlimactically into an oil-slicked puddle. He let his head fall back against the wall, scrubbing his hand over his face in silent defeat. On the back of his hand was a familiar compass tattoo, and what Wooyoung knew to be the numbers ‘2’ and ‘7’ on his knuckles. Something like relief swelled in his chest. 

“... San?” Wooyoung called, his voice somewhat lost in the roar of the rain. 

San turned when he heard his name. His expression softened in recognition, but he didn’t greet Wooyoung with a bright smile like he usually would. He was soaked to the bone, wet jeans clinging to his thighs and drops of water running down his face from his sopping hair. He was thin to begin with, but now it was painfully obvious, like he was some kind of half-drowned stray cat. He looked exhausted, even for him, like he'd been bled of every drop of energy he had left, his face especially lifeless in the dull lamplight oozing through the rain.

San lifted his hand in a limp, half-assed wave, letting his head fall back against the wall. He shut his eyes, breathing out a deep sigh through his nose as Wooyoung stepped over. Jesus, what happened to him? He was used to San looking worn down, but never this bad. Never to the point where he didn’t even have it in him to smile, let alone try to flirt. Wooyoung didn’t like it one bit. The cigarette hung uselessly between his lips, the icing on the cake of his already rough state. 

Wordlessly, Wooyoung slid the lighter from his pocket, bumping it against San’s shoulder to get his attention. San looked up, and Wooyoung held it out for him to take. He blinked for a moment, then slipped it from Wooyoung’s fingers with a soft smile of gratitude. 

“Thanks,” San muttered, easily bringing the end of his cigarette to life, filling his lungs with much-needed salvation. The cherry glowed a brilliant orange as he sucked the filter, and he handed the lighter back with a thick sigh, exhaling smoke into the air. 

“Where you been?” Wooyoung asked casually. He hoped a conversation might cheer him up, or at least shed a little light for Wooyoung’s sake. San was kind of an enigma, it was rare for him to let his mask slip. “Bouncing around?”

San scoffed. It was subtle, but the bitterness was there. “I’ll say.” 

Wooyoung leaned against the wall next to him, stuffing one hand into his jacket pocket. He scuffed at the pavement with the heel of his boot, not quite sure how to react. Should he stay quiet? Should he pry again? That didn’t seem like a great idea, but then again, it was more favorable than silence. The silence wasn’t awkward, per se, just… depressing. 

Luckily, San spoke first, so he didn’t have to. 

“Phone’s dead. A buddy and I went at it, and he kicked me out with all of my shit still at his place. My charger was there, too. So I’m fucked, basically,” San huffed, giving a dismal nod.

“Wanna borrow mine?” Wooyoung offered.

San shook his head. “No, I don’t, uh… ” He paused, taking a drag. “Memorize numbers.”

“Mm.” 

“Thanks, though.” San looked up, forcing a smile of gratitude. As he did, Wooyoung could see that his cheek was swollen, a scrape of broken skin over a patch of red, angry against his pale complexion. 

“Where are you headed?” Wooyoung asked. 

“Nowhere,” San said bluntly. 

“You don’t… have anywhere to go?” Wooyoung frowned, heart sinking a little. He didn’t want to pity San, but damn, he looked… pitiful. 

“Nope.” Inhale, exhale. “What’s new, I guess.” 

“Where do you usually stay?”

San shrugged. “Depends. I know a few people who’ll let me crash at their place. Just haven’t been on good terms lately.”

“Ah.” Another pause. “I was starting to get worried, you know.”

“About me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Wooyoung shrugged. “Dunno. Thought you died or something.”

San smiled a little. “Aw, would you miss me?” 

“Maybe a little. I was so bored I had to actually start doing my job.”

San breathed out a laugh. It was small, but Wooyoung was relieved nonetheless. “For once,” he teased.

“I know, right,” Wooyoung grinned. “God forbid.”

They fell back into silence as they finished their smokes. The rain refused to let up, hammering furiously against the pavement in an endless, irate rhythm. San seemed to relax somewhat, though his exhaustion clearly remained. The more Wooyoung learned about him, the more questions he had. San didn’t talk about his friends too much, and Wooyoung wondered what kind of fight would lead San being kicked out to the street. He couldn’t tell if San was high or just worn to the threads, but either way, he didn’t like the idea of leaving him to fend for himself out in the cold. 

San was his favorite regular, after all. 

Wooyoung took one last drag, then let the butt fall to the ground. He smashed it under his boot, a thin wisp of smoke swirling into the air as it died. He shoved his other hand into his pocket, peeling his back off the wall with a contemplative sigh. He nudged the side of his foot against San’s shin. 

“Come on,” he chirped, beckoning San up with a nod of his chin. 

San blinked up at him in confusion. “What?”

“Get up. I’m taking you home.”

San blinked again. “... What?” 

“Unless you wanna sleep out in the rain.”

“I— Wooyoung—” San started to shake his head in protest. “I appreciate it, but—”

Wooyoung nudged San’s shin again. “C’mon. I’m not leaving you out here.” 

“You can’t just…” San huffed in dismissal. “You don’t even know me.” He stubbed out the end of his cigarette against the pavement. 

“True. And?”

“And… you’d really trust me to come home with you?” San looked up at him, eyebrows pinched in disbelief, and he reminded Wooyoung of a sad little kitty cat. Wooyoung wasn’t the type to go and collect strays, but he seemed to have a soft spot for this one. 

“Are you saying I shouldn’t?”

“No, but…”

“Just don’t steal my shit, or I’ll have to hunt you down,” Wooyoung shrugged. 

San rose up from the ground, knees cracking as they straightened out. He brushed a smudge of ash from his thigh, the moisture on his jeans turning it into a faint gray streak. From this close, Wooyoung could tell San actually stood a few inches taller. He hadn’t noticed before. San gave him a stern look, brown eyes wavering with a myriad of conflicted emotions. What, was he expecting Wooyoung to say _sike, gotcha!_ and run off without him? Honestly, that’s probably exactly what he was thinking. 

“Seriously— like, for real?” 

“For real.”

  


  


✖

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> of course this san would have a wallet chain
> 
> twitter & tumblr @ yungwooyoung


	2. my heart's pumping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the long awaited debut of san's split tongue has finally arrived

  


  


✖

  


  


“I didn’t peg you as an Old Spice kinda guy,” San commented as he stepped out of the bathroom, buffing a towel over his damp hair before draping it over his shoulders. It somehow looked even blacker when it was wet, and his skin had a residual flush from the shower. 

“It was on sale,” Wooyoung shrugged. “Fiji’s not your thing?” 

“No, it’s great. I love smelling like an entire Pacific island.”

“Fiji is a bunch of islands, dumbass,” Wooyoung scoffed, tossing a spare blanket onto the couch. It used to be a futon, but now it was stuck in the upright position indefinitely. Hopefully San wouldn’t mind. 

“Alright, mister National Geographic,” San teased, holding up his palms in mock-deescalation. 

He was dressed in some of Wooyoung’s clothes, a loose Megadeth tee and a pair of black sweats. No underwear, though—lending his boxers to someone he barely knew felt a little too intimate. San’s clothes were completely soaked, left hanging on the towel rack in the bathroom to drip-dry, since Wooyoung’s unit was cheap as shit and didn’t come with a washer-dryer. 

“There should be some leftover pizza in the fridge. I usually just eat it cold, but you can heat it up if you want.” Wooyoung gestured his head toward the kitchen, and San’s eyes lit up immediately. 

“Pizza? Oh, hell yeah!” he exclaimed, padding over to the kitchen with a pep in his step at the prospect of food. Wooyoung wished he could have the same level of excitement, but cold pizza tended to lose its appeal after the eightieth time. San was awfully thin, he looked like he could use the calories. 

“There’s hot sauce in there too, if you want it. You smoke dabs?” Wooyoung called, slipping into his bedroom to grab his supplies. Rig, torch, pocket knife, shatter. He had a loaded bong on his nightstand, still halfway full of greens, but he figured he’d need something stronger if he was gonna put up with San hanging around his house. That, and he had company—Wooyoung was nothing if not a decent host. 

“Mm, rarely. Why, you have some?” San’s voice came out muffled around his mouthful of pizza. He plopped down on the couch next to Wooyoung, setting a bottle of habanero sauce on the coffee table. 

“Yeah, my roommate gets them super cheap from a guy he works with.” Wooyoung shoved aside a pile of mail and several empty beer cans, clearing a space on the table for his rig. One of the cans fell on the floor and rolled away, but Wooyoung didn’t feel like picking it up. 

“Dabs and free pizza? Wow, dream roommate.” San raised his eyebrows and gave an impressed nod, shaking a generous amount of hot sauce onto his pizza.

“He’s the biggest stoner I’ve ever met in my life. It has its perks.” 

Wooyoung unwrapped the small sheet of wax paper in front of him, exposing a fresh gram of shatter. He unsheathed the blade of his pocket knife, which was sticky with residue, using the tip to scrape off a small chunk of the thick, amber-colored concentrate. He twirled the knife until it formed a neat little ball.

He held the rig in his lap, lighting the torch and holding the flame to the nail until it glowed red-hot. When it was cool enough, he brought the tip of the knife to it, inhaling the thick cloud of smoke that erupted into the chamber. A harsh coughing fit left his chest as he finished the rip, holding the rig out for San to take. That was the one thing he hated about dabs—they always made him cough up a lung. 

San gave him an odd look. “You’re letting me crash _and_ smoking me out? There has to be a catch.”

“Mhm. No catch. You hitting or not?” Wooyoung croaked after a moment of recovery. 

San nodded, setting his pizza down in his lap and brushing off his hands before accepting the rig. “Thanks. It’s just… really nice of you.” 

“I’m always nice, aren’t I?” Wooyoung knew he was no bed of roses, but he wasn’t a total dick. San was having a rough night—the least he could do was get him stoned. 

“‘You know it’s my job to be nice to you, right?’” San mocked with a shit-eating grin, in obvious reference to something Wooyoung had once said. He torched the nail for a few seconds, twirling a piece of shatter onto the knife as he waited for it to cool. Wooyoung kicked him in the shin, and San laughed against the mouthpiece of the rig. 

“Shut up. Don’t make me throw you out,” he countered, but without much bite. He was glad to see San laughing again, though he had no plans to say it aloud. 

San took the hit, coughing wildly as he exhaled a milky-white cloud of smoke. He waved a hand in front of his face to clear the air, handing the rig back. Wooyoung set it on the table, trading it for the TV remote, flipping to some random channel since Yeosang was the only one who knew the Netflix password and was currently asleep. He settled on a sitcom that looked like it had the budget of a college film project—it was better than total silence. 

“I was just kidding, by the way. I do think you’re nice—you’re really giving me the VIP treatment, here.” San shot him a look from the other end of the couch, tucking his feet up next to him and making himself cozy. He grabbed the blanket that Wooyoung had given him, shaking it out of its folded position to spread it over his legs. 

“I wouldn’t exactly consider this place VIP,” Wooyoung scoffed. 

“No, it’s great. Really, it’s… ” San trailed off, looking around Wooyoung’s apartment like it was some kind of white-marble mansion. 

“The bar must be on the floor, then.”

“Yeah,” San laughed, and Wooyoung could detect a hint of bitterness. “I guess you could say that. Hell, I slept in a shed not too long ago. Lots of spiders.” He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers separating the damp strands into little chunks around his face. 

“You think your buddy will let you come back to get your stuff?” 

“Not sure. Things got a little, uh… heated. It didn’t end well.” San gestured to the swollen patch of skin on one of his cheekbones. 

“Why’d you guys fight?”

“We started arguing over something stupid, then he said some shit that crossed a line—something about my dad—then I just lost it.” San shot Wooyoung a glance, holding up a hand in his defence. “I don’t usually get mad like that,” he clarified, as if Wooyoung suddenly expected him to lash out. 

“Sounds… personal.” Wooyoung shifted on the couch, pulling his legs up. They’d never really talked about themselves outside of their shared music tastes, but Wooyoung would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious.

San shrugged. “I guess. My dad and I aren’t on great terms, to put it lightly.” 

_Shocker_. Not that Wooyoung was one to talk. 

“What about your mom?”

“Oh, she’s great. She’s, uh… ” San paused for an indecipherable moment. “Really great.”

“But you don’t live with her?” 

“I moved out, I guess.”

“To… the streets?” Wooyoung quirked a brow. 

San laughed, realizing how off that logic was. He ran his hand through his hair again, a conflicted sigh leaving his nose, and a few seconds of silence followed. Wooyoung reached for his rig again, deciding he wasn’t nearly high enough. He scraped a dab off the wax paper, mostly to give himself something to do with his hands. 

“You asked me about rehab,” San stated, not a question. “I used to go to one, about a year ago. It was a really nice place, actually. My mom wanted to help me get clean, so she took out a loan to get me into a good program.”

“Mm,” Wooyoung hummed against the mouthpiece. “Methadone.” 

“Yeah, they put me on methadone. I was on it for about a month before I relapsed. They weren’t very forgiving. So I left, and decided not to go back home to give my mom a break from my stupid ass,” San laughed.

“I bet she’s worried, though.” Wooyoung took a hit, coughed up a lung, then passed the rig. 

“She’d be worried if she saw me like this, that’s for sure. Sometimes I feel bad for leaving her alone, though.” He torched the nail until it glowed. 

“Can I ask… where is he?”

“My dad? Prison,” San scoffed. “Drugs, assault, all kinds of shit. He was a real piece of work. I was glad when they arrested him, though. The only shitty part was that we went broke.” San paused to take a hit, coughing out clouds of white as he set the rig on the table, trading it for the bottle of hot sauce and the slice of pizza on his lap. He took a bite, muffling the rest of his words as he chewed. “I dropped out of high school as soon as I was old enough for a job.”

Wooyoung hummed, nodding in understanding. “Same here. For other reasons, though.”

“You dropped out?”

“Yep. Senior year.”

“What for?”

“It’s uh—” Wooyoung paused. “Complicated.”

“Can of worms?”

“Huge can. The main reason is because I kinda… got stuck in juvie.”

“ _You_ went to juvie?” San’s eyes went wide. 

“Why are you so surprised?” Wooyoung laughed. “Do I strike you as someone who made the Dean’s list?” 

“Well—just—I don’t know, I’m just surprised. What the hell did you do?” 

Wooyoung hesitated. It wasn’t a subject he was used to discussing. This was one of those times where his mind wasn’t his friend—unwanted images floating up to the surface again. Boyfriend, blood, Honda Civic. Boyfriend, blood, Honda Civic. Boyfriend, blood, Honda—

“It’s fine, I didn’t mean to—” San started, noticing Wooyoung’s odd silence. 

Wooyoung cleared his throat. “No, I, uh… They found drugs in the car, basically.”

“Ah, your car?” 

“... Yeah.” No, not _his_ car. 

“That sucks,” San said simply. He pursed his lips and gave a small nod of understanding.

It fell quiet for a while. Instead of picking up the conversation again, they each turned their attention to the awful show playing on the TV. Luckily, it didn’t take long for his high to set in, blanketing his limbs in a thick haze of relaxation. Wooyoung let himself melt into the couch, becoming one with the upholstery like one of those funny anti-weed commercials. He heard San laugh every now and then, but Wooyoung wasn’t paying enough attention to the show to know what was so funny. 

Instead, he was distracted by San’s face. Particularly, how… _nice_ it looked. 

Was San always this attractive, or was Wooyoung just high? 

San contentedly munched away on his pizza, his eyes taking on a glassy, pink hue as the dabs set in. Sure, he looked sickly as hell, but his features themselves were beautiful. His nose was a sharp, straight line, complimenting his high cheekbones and the curved bow of his lips, all framed by his perfectly cut jawline that Wooyoung could only describe as, well, perfect. It was hard to explain, considering how baked he was, but his features had a certain harmony that made San the easiest person in the world to look at. 

“What? Why are you staring at me?” San asked, turning to Wooyoung with a slight frown. His eyelids drooped, giving his eyes an almost sultry edge. His silver lip ring was distracting as hell, forcing Wooyoung’s gaze to follow as he chewed his pizza.

“You’re kinda gorgeous,” Wooyoung blurted, the hoodie string he’d been absently chewing on falling from his lips. 

“Huh?” San’s chewing halted. He looked startled, then an adorable, shy grin began to blossom on his face, a dimple popping out on his left cheek where his smile leaned. 

“Seriously—I mean it. You’re fucking beautiful.” 

San blinked a couple times. “T-thanks. What brought this about?”

“I don’t know. Has anyone told you that lately?” Wooyoung shrugged. 

“I get told a lot that I look like crap.”

“I mean, you definitely look tired, but that’s not really permanent.”

“That’s… debatable.” San’s crooked smile turned into a full on shit-eating grin. “Does this mean you _like_ me?”

Wooyoung scoffed. “It just means I have eyes.”

“Suuure. Whatever you say,” San teased. Wooyoung kicked him lightly from across the couch. 

San’s sense of self-worth was in the toilet, and it broke Wooyoung’s damn heart. San was an absolute sweetheart, a kind soul subjected to all the horrible crap life had to offer. Not that Wooyoung knew him all that well, but he seemed like a kind soul, deep down. On top of that, he was kind of… stupidly hot. How could he not have noticed before? Wooyoung was definitely just high, right? 

“Didn’t I say rock bottom isn’t really my type?” Wooyoung teased, but he immediately regretted it the second San’s face fell. He quickly backtracked, waving a hand in apology. “Sorry, my jokes come out mean sometimes.”

“No, you’re… you’re not wrong. I’ve been kind of a mess lately.”

“Lately?” 

“Mm.” San finished his pizza, brushing his hands off against his thighs. “You’re kinda the best thing that’s happened to me in a while.”

“Me? I’m just the guy you buy cigarettes from.” 

San shrugged. “You’re the only one who doesn’t look down on me, these days. Even after you found me basically dead on the bathroom floor.”

San had never put it that bluntly before. He’d joked about it a couple times, but his smile was noticeably absent. The San from that day was a completely different one than the one sitting in front of him, and this San didn’t seem like the type to OD in a mini-mart bathroom. This one didn’t strike Wooyoung as the type to OD at all. Clearly there was something Wooyoung was missing. 

“What happened that day? It doesn’t seem like you to just… do that,” Wooyoung asked after a few beats. 

San took a long breath, then slowly exhaled. “I’m more careful than that, usually,” he nodded. “There was something that happened that day, that, um… It—it really messed me up. I still haven’t told anyone about it, actually.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Wooyoung assured. 

“No, it’s ok. You were there when I OD’d, so… ” San paused, taking another breath. “I was getting high with a buddy at his place—one of my best friends, actually—and I kinda knocked out for a little bit. I’m not sure how long. When I woke up, he was next to me, and—” He swallowed thickly. “He was dead. Choked on his own vomit.” 

A chill ran down Wooyoung’s spine. Boyfriend, blood, Honda Civic. 

_Stop it. Go away._

“Then I just… ran. Didn’t even call the police or anything—just got the hell out. I couldn’t even think, I just kept running until I saw the Quickie Mart, and… well, you know the rest.”

Wooyoung remembered the look on San’s face after he’d woken up. He’d panicked after Wooyoung had mentioned the police, eyes going wide like he’d just been told he was getting the electric chair. It was kind of shocking that he’d come in smiling and flirting just a few days later, seemingly unbothered by it all. San’s ability to mask his pain was more than a little unsettling. 

“San,” Wooyoung started, his voice quiet. “Did you mean to overdose that day I found you?” 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. San’s fingers went still against the blanket, ceasing to fidget the moment Wooyoung opened his mouth. Wooyoung immediately felt guilty for asking something so personal. Then again, as the one who technically saved his life, Wooyoung felt like he had the right to know. Not technically—he _did_ save San’s life, and it gave him chills to think about. 

Wooyoung didn’t have a clock, but he could practically hear the _tick, tick, tick._

“I don’t know,” San said eventually. It came out as an uncertain sigh. “I was so messed up about it that I just finished off what I had with me. I didn’t mean to, necessarily, but… I also wouldn’t have minded if I did.”

Something inside Wooyoung’s chest shifted like a tectonic plate. That bled-dry, exhausted look was back on San’s face. The kind of tired that sleeping wouldn’t cure. The kind of tired that ate, and ate, and ate.

“I didn’t think about it much beforehand, but after I woke up, I… I don’t know. Yeah, I think I meant to do it.” San gave a stiff nod, and an even stiffer smile. 

Wooyoung was silent. He gave a small, slow nod, not quite sure what to say. He was no therapist, and comfort wasn’t exactly his strongest suit, but he understood. He’d lost enough friends—he knew what that look meant. 

“Shit,” San laughed under his breath, wiping at his eye as a tear started to form. “Sorry.”

Wooyoung slid the blanket off his lap and crawled over to San, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for a tight hug. His head felt heavy from his high, so he let his chin rest on San’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin radiating through his borrowed shirt. The scent of Wooyoung’s shampoo clung to his hair, replacing the usual tobacco smoke that followed him. 

A hesitant pair of hands snaked around Wooyoung’s back, settling just beneath his shoulder blades, and San took a deep breath before releasing it in a soft, gradual exhale. San relaxed after a few beats, leaning into Wooyoung’s touch, as if letting some of the torment dissolve, even just a little. Wooyoung’s heart ached tangibly in his chest, throbbing with old wounds that never healed quite right. Wooyoung felt for him—maybe a little too much. 

“You smell like an entire Pacific island,” Wooyoung murmured, inhaling deeply against San’s borrowed Megadeth shirt. 

San puffed out a startled laugh. “Thanks.”

Wooyoung smiled, happy to feel San laughing against him—he didn’t like to see his favorite regular look so down. It made him weirdly upset, for some reason. Wooyoung was silent for a few moments, chewing his lip in contemplation. 

“I think I gave myself away with the Vivitrol,” Wooyoung sighed, only half a voice leaving his throat.

“... Yeah.”

“You could tell?”

“Most people have never heard of it.”

“Mm.”

Another pause. “Can I ask—”

Wooyoung nodded against San’s shoulder. “Percocet, Oxy, Vicodin... even Dilaudid—when I could get my hands on some. Then I got super into speedballing. Percs and coke, usually.” 

“Yikes,” San muttered. “Lines or needles?”

“Lines. All the time. My—my boyfriend was a dealer. Uh, ex-boyfriend. He, um—” Wooyoung had to pause to clear his throat. “He died.”

Boyfriend, blood, Honda Civic. 

“... How?”

Boyfriend, blood, Honda Civic. 

Wooyoung took a deep breath.

“Flipped the car into a ditch. We were both high as fuck, I was on the passenger’s side. He took his seatbelt off because he wanted head, or something, and I don’t remember after that. He was dead when I woke up.” 

San’s arms tightened around his back. “Sorry.”

“Mm. I still don’t drive, and I was seventeen at the time.” 

“I don’t blame you.” San’s chin bumped against Wooyoung’s shoulder. 

Wooyoung was able to sit in a car these days without having flashbacks, but actually getting behind the wheel made him freeze up in terror, and he thanked his lucky stars his job was within walking distance from his apartment. He’d tried driving Yeosang’s car a few times, but it never worked out. Oh, well—he’d resigned himself to walking or taking the bus for the rest of his life.

“Moral of the story is... I’m stoned, fuck. I don’t have one,” Wooyoung laughed. “Hey, c’mere.” 

Wooyoung pulled back a little, shifting so that his head was resting on San’s shoulder. He grabbed around for the blanket, pulling it up and draping it over their lower halves. San instinctively raised his arm as Wooyoung shimmied down, letting it rest over his shoulders, his hand cupping Wooyoung’s arm to bring him closer. He looked a bit confused, but didn’t seem to mind. 

“Sorry, I’m kind of cuddly when I smoke. You can tell me to fuck off if you want to go to sleep, though,” Wooyoung explained. He and Yeosang ended up lumped together on the couch at some point more often than not.

“No, it’s cool. I’m still kind of in shock you actually took me home,” San laughed softly. He scooted further into the couch to get comfortable, leaning into Wooyoung until they were pressed together under the blanket. San’s skin was warm, and he smelled nice from the shower, and Wooyoung quickly found himself melting against him in a lazy, stoned bliss. 

Despite the fact that they were literally cuddling, San had completely toned down his cocky, devil-may-care attitude, his flirtatious comments noticeably absent. It was almost a little weird, but Wooyoung figured he probably didn’t want to cross a line by taking a joke too far. They talked a little here and there in between a few more sporadic dab rips, but eventually they got high enough to where the conversation faded off entirely, opting to watch terrible late-night TV in a comfortable silence.

However…

Once he noticed how attractive San was, he couldn’t _stop_ noticing. It didn’t help that this particular strain made him really horny. But goddamn, San was hot. Distractingly hot. Like, ‘bend me over the couch right now’ hot. Like, ‘I’m two seconds from dropping to my knees hot.’ Like—

Fuck, he was high. 

Wooyoung could feel his heart pounding hard thanks to his buzz, jackhammering in his chest like he’d just run a marathon. And, thanks to his libido, it was becoming increasingly difficult to sit still, his hands begging to slip underneath San’s shirt and his dick on the cusp of growing hard in his sweats. San’s gaze was calmly trained on the TV, an arm thrown around Wooyoung’s shoulders and a small smile on his face in response to something funny happening on screen.

Wooyoung chewed on his hoodie string to give himself something to do, but it backfired when he started wishing it was San’s cock in his mouth instead. He opted instead to fiddle with his tongue piercing, running the bottom end along his lower teeth with a soft tapping sound, and part of him wondered if San could hear it. He had to have heard it. Was San thinking about his mouth? Did weed make him horny, too? What was San even like in bed? Wooyoung had no idea, honestly. The guy was an enigma in most aspects of life. 

Wooyoung lifted his head from San’s shoulder, who turned to him with a questioning glance. Wooyoung was in that state of highness where he suddenly felt self conscious of all his actions, like somehow San could tell how hard his heart was beating against his chest, and his head was filled with thoughts of _wait, am I breathing too loud? Do I look like a freak?_ He suddenly remembered why he preferred to smoke alone—he tended to overthink things to the point of insanity. 

Maybe it was weird to bring a guy home out of the kindness of his heart, only to end up trying to climb on his dick later. It felt… sleazy. Wooyoung hadn’t planned that part, though—he really was just going to let San take a shower and crash on his couch for a night. Now they were cuddling, Wooyoung was super horny, and San looked like he was handcrafted by god himself. It probably wasn’t a great idea to get involved with someone like him, but it wasn’t like Wooyoung had to _date_ him. San was obviously attracted to him—he was probably down to fuck.

“Hm?” San’s eyes had a pink, glazed finish, hooded as they fell to Wooyoung’s lips. 

Wooyoung said nothing, only semi-aware of the fact that he’d started leaning in until his lips were pressed against San’s, his hand curling into the fabric of his shirt. The arm thrown around Wooyoung’s shoulders slid down to his lower back, pulling him closer. It still wasn’t enough, Wooyoung decided, and he pushed up from the back of the couch to slide his knee over San’s.

Wooyoung crawled into San’s lap, straddling his hips between his knees as he pulled him in for a suddenly very needy kiss. San reciprocated like he’d been zapped with a defibrillator, startled but eager, grabbing at Wooyoung’s waist through his hoodie with rough, excited hands. Wooyoung teased at San’s lip ring with his tongue, but was surprised to feel hands pushing at his shoulders, moving him away. Wooyoung blinked in confusion—he definitely hadn’t expected San to reject him. 

“Hang on, Wooyoung, I’m…” San started, pursing his lips into a line. “I’m—I’m not good for you.” He turned away, avoiding Wooyoung’s puzzled gaze.

Wooyoung raised his eyebrows. “You’re deciding this now, after almost a whole month of flirting with me?” he teased.

San had been pulling out all the stops when it came to flirting, now he was having second thoughts? Wooyoung was almost offended. Way to be indecisive as hell. 

San laughed, but his smile faded quickly. “I didn’t think that—y’know, that you’d actually… ” 

“... Actually wanna make out with you?” Wooyoung finished.

“Yeah.”

“Why not?”

San searched Wooyoung’s face for a moment, then gave a soft sigh. “You’re—you know. You deserve better.”

“Didn’t I just say I think you’re gorgeous?” Wooyoung argued. He kind of wanted to slap San for thinking so little of himself. 

“Still an addict,” San muttered under his breath. 

Wooyoung took his face in his hands, giving him a stern glare. “I didn’t say that. I said, ‘you’re fucking beautiful.’ Don’t make me kick your ass.” 

San looked genuinely lost, his lips parted as he grappled for what to say. His eyebrows pinched together ever so slightly, like Wooyoung had just spoken a different language. Was worthiness such a foreign concept that he needed a translator or something? Did Wooyoung have to spell it out for him?

“I—” San started.

Wooyoung cut him off with a kiss, sliding his hand around the back of San’s neck and pulling him in. It was messier this time, more aggressive, like he was trying to shove some self-love down San’s throat with his tongue. Wooyoung braced his other hand against the back of the couch, his chest pressed up against San’s until he couldn’t tell whose heartbeat was whose. 

San’s hands gripped Wooyoung’s waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie with a needy urgency. This time, San let his tongue dip into Wooyoung’s mouth, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Wooyoung could feel him smile as their tongues slid together, and something made Wooyoung pause, a startled noise leaving his throat. 

What the—

“Huh?”

Wooyoung pulled back to find a mischievous grin plastered all over San’s face, who stuck his tongue out past his lips and made it split apart like a snake. Wooyoung blinked in shock. 

“... Huh?” 

This motherfucker had a split tongue.

A split motherfucking tongue. 

“This whole time? You’ve had your tongue split this _whole_ time?” Wooyoung demanded, feeling somewhat betrayed. 

“What, you never noticed?” San cocked his head with a teasing smirk.

“No fucking way,” Wooyoung groaned in disbelief. “You motherfucker.”

San’s smirk widened. “Grossed out?”

Wooyoung sighed, nodding his head. “A little turned on.” 

More than a _little_. 

“Good, ‘cause I know how to use it,” San purred, pulling Wooyoung back in, dragging each side of his snake tongue against Wooyoung’s, who practically melted into his lap, gripping San by the back of his neck. 

And he was right—San was a good kisser. Wooyoung wasn’t sure why this surprised him, maybe because most people who liked to run their mouths were all bark and no bite. A pleasant surprise, no doubt. Forget being a good kisser—San was fucking _phenomenal_. Wooyoung was picky as hell, but the way San kissed had his heart pounding against his ribs and his dick coming to life in his sweats. 

San used the perfect amount of tongue—that fucking split tongue, _fuck_ —enough to have Wooyoung melting against his chest and craving more, but not too much. San was able to gracefully match his rhythm without knocking their teeth or getting spit all over the place, licking into his mouth with more finesse than Wooyoung could have ever expected. Wooyoung was a sucker for good kissers—and while stoned, no less? Practically heaven. 

Wooyoung ran a hand along San’s neck, feeling his fast pulse beneath his fingertips, letting his thumb brush against the sharp line of San’s jaw. Wooyoung was overcome with the urge to sink his teeth in, breaking away to mouth along the bone, dragging his teeth in soft bites along San’s jaw in between wet kisses. San sighed, tipping his head back to let him taste his skin, his hands squeezing Wooyoung’s waist in response.

Wooyoung licked under San’s jaw, dragging his piercing along the edge, sucking at a spot on his neck that Wooyoung deemed to be sensitive, judging by the shaky breath that escaped San’s lips, and the way his head fell back against the couch. San didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d mind a hickey or two. Wooyoung nipped at the spot, feeling the vibrations from San’s throat as he gave a soft, breathy moan. God, even the way he moaned was hot as fuck. Wooyoung was almost pissed. 

As Wooyoung went to lick into San’s mouth again, San surprised him by grabbing his tongue with his teeth, catching it by the barbell that stuck out on either side. Wooyoung yelped, cracking his eyes open to see San’s lips curled up into a deadly smirk. San gave a playful growl from deep in his throat before letting go, grinning as he released Wooyoung’s tongue. Suddenly, the room felt way too hot. 

“That piercing is sexy,” San praised, eyes hooded with lustful amusement. “Been thinking about it for weeks.”

“Oh yeah? You think about my mouth a lot?” Wooyoung teased, nipping at the silver ring on San’s lower lip. 

“Mm, you bet. I think about how pretty you’d look on your knees for me. I bet you’re good at it, huh?” San breathed against his lips. San slipped his hands into Wooyoung’s sweats, giving his ass a rough, naughty squeeze.

Hearing San talk dirty like that made Wooyoung want to do exactly that—drop to his knees and suck him off like he was designed for it. San seemed to have a way of making Wooyoung melt, turning him into putty in his hands, but he wasn’t complaining. He was notoriously hard to please in bed, but San was certainly having no trouble. 

“Oh… one more thing.” A coy grin pulled at Wooyoung’s lips as he slowly unzipped his hoodie. 

Wooyoung took San’s hands and guided them up to his chest, making sure his fingers brushed against the piercings hiding underneath his shirt. San caught on immediately, rubbing the pads of his fingers over his nipples with a grin of pleasant surprise. 

“Oh, no way,” San breathed against his lips. “I knew you were hiding something.” 

San dipped his fingers underneath the hem of Wooyoung’s shirt, pushing it up over his chest. He ducked his head down to seal his lips over one of Wooyoung’s nipples, flicking it with his tongue and sucking it with a soft, satisfied moan. Wooyoung gasped, arching into his touch, his fingers digging into San’s shoulders. 

“Fuck,” Wooyoung breathed, his lips falling open and his eyebrows knitting in a soft frown. 

San kissed over his sternum, moving to circle his tongue over his other, flicking it against the metal balls on either side. Wooyoung squirmed in his lap, soft whimpers rising from his throat each time San sealed his lips over it and sucked. San gave a hungry sigh through his nose, catching the piercing with his teeth, biting onto the bar and giving it a light tug. 

“Mm, _fuck_ —”

“Sensitive?” San smirked, leaning back up, thumbs rubbing circles over both nipples. Wooyoung nodded, breath catching at the sensation. 

San pinched them, rolling the bars between his thumbs and forefingers, and Wooyoung’s fingers tightened against the black fabric over San’s shoulders. His back arched, his hips rolling down into San’s, feeling the way his cock started to strain against his sweats. 

“Drives you crazy, huh?” San purred, kissing along his jaw.

“Shut up,” Wooyoung laughed, breathing heavily under San’s touch. He slid his hands down San’s chest, reaching down to palm at the front of his sweats. San groaned as Wooyoung gave his cock a hard squeeze. “I forgot you had to go commando, _fuck_.”

“Like it?” 

“Mm, even better if you took these off.”

San grinned. “You lied—you’re a horny smoker, not a cuddly one.”

“... I’m both,” Wooyoung admitted with a sheepish smile. 

“You’re so cute.” San slid his hands down to Wooyoung’s waist, moaning low in his throat as Wooyoung kneaded him through his pants. His fingers tightened against Wooyoung’s skin, pulling him closer. 

Wooyoung gave a gratified moan as he worked his palm along San’s cock. “Mm, you’re kinda big.”

“All yours if you want it.” 

“Were you just fucking with me about having a dick piercing?”

“I guess you’ll see,” San purred, the cool metal of his ring grazing Wooyoung’s lip. 

Wooyoung grinned, hooking his fingers into the waistband of San’s sweats— _his_ sweats, technically—to pull them down, but he was interrupted by his phone buzzing wildly against the coffee table, growing more incessant the more he ignored it. Who the fuck was trying to cockblock him at four in the morning?

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Hang on,” he groaned, nearly sliding off San’s lap as he tried to grab it without getting up. Luckily, San caught him by the waist before he tumbled onto the floor, a cute, stoned giggle bubbling up from his chest. With some effort, Wooyoung was able to slide his phone off the coffee table.

He had about seven thousand messages, all from Yeosang.

  


  


**sangie:** im happy ur getting laid but if u fuck on the couch i will kill u 

**sangie:** im serious

 **sangie:** i will kill you

 **sangie:** wooyoung. 

**sangie:** i can hear everything. i forgot my headphones in my car don’t put me through this 

**sangie:** im begging u

 **sangie:** please spare me 

**sangie:** w

 **sangie:** o

 **sangie:** o

 **sangie:** y

 **sangie:** o

  


  


“Okay, knock it off!” Wooyoung shouted in the direction of Yeosang’s room, and the buzzing stopped. San snickered against his neck, following with a cheeky bite. 

“Should we move?” he asked.

“What, you don’t wanna fuck me on the couch?” Wooyoung grinned, his eyelids heavy. 

San gave his neck another bite. “I’ll fuck you anywhere you want, cutie.”

Wooyoung giggled and squirmed against him, clumsily sliding out of his lap and rising to his feet. He swayed a bit, suddenly lightheaded thanks to the dabs, and San grabbed him by the hips and pulled him closer, placing kisses along the outline of Wooyoung’s hard cock through his sweats. Wooyoung gave a soft moan, grabbing San by the wrists and walking backwards toward his room, dragging San off the couch after him with a loopy grin. 

Wooyoung’s room wasn’t in great shape, but at least it was dark. There were dirty clothes covering most of the floor, his nightstand was dusted with a substantial amount of tobacco from when he’d scraped it out of a Backwood, and he didn’t have a bed frame, but San didn’t seem to mind any of that—in fact, he seemed ecstatic to be there at all. 

The second they stumbled into Wooyoung’s room, they fell into his bed in a giggling pile of uncoordinated limbs. Wooyoung wasted no time crawling on top of him, sitting on San’s dick and grinding his hips in a slow roll. San bit back a growl, dragging his teeth against his lip ring with a hungry glare. He pushed Wooyoung’s hoodie off his shoulders, then tugged at his shirt, encouraging Wooyoung to strip it off, which he flung somewhere in the room as soon as it was over his head. 

San looked up at him with a giddy, dimpled smile. “God, I can’t believe I’m in bed with the cute cashier I’ve been crushing on.” 

“I can’t believe I’m in bed with my annoying regular who can’t take a hint—hey!” Wooyoung flinched as San pinched his ribs, twisting away as San tried to tickle him. 

Laughing, San ran his hands along Wooyoung’s waist, lingering over his hips as his gaze fell to the band of his sweats. He quirked an investigative brow, tilting his head. He tucked his index fingers beneath the elastic and tugged it down, his lips turning up into a curious smile as he noticed the patches of ink peeking out just above the waistband. 

“What’s this?” San shimmied Wooyoung’s pants down with his boxers, just enough to reveal two pairs of roses etched in red and black over the ridge of each of his hip bones. San pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I have lots of surprises,” Wooyoung teased, sliding off of San to yank his pants off. He chucked them away along with his boxers, now fully naked, yelping as San tackled him and pinned him to the bed. 

“Fuck, you’re sexy,” San growled, planting his lips against one of the tattoos, leaving enthusiastic kisses over the flowing lines forming petals. 

San traced his tongue over each of the roses, kissing thoroughly over each one before moving onto the next, dragging his lips over Wooyoung’s hip bones with a featherlight touch. He ghosted his breath over Wooyoung’s cock as he moved to the other side, ignoring the fact that it was obnoxiously hard in favor of mouthing along the other pair of roses. 

When he’d finished admiring Wooyoung’s artwork, he kissed a trail up Wooyoung’s stomach, licking along his sternum before turning his head to mouth at one of his nipples. Wooyoung gasped as San hooked his teeth around the piercing and gave it a light tug, letting it go to flick his tongue over it, sucking it into his mouth with a soft moan. He did the same with the other, sucking and biting at the piercing until Wooyoung squirmed beneath him, biting his lip as a needy whine threatened to escape. 

San went back to kissing up his sternum, delivering a hard, sudden bite to Wooyoung’s collarbone, latching on with his teeth. Wooyoung gasped, clutching at San’s shoulders. He tugged at the fabric of his shirt, silently conveying he wanted it off, to which San obliged, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. It was dark, but Wooyoung could tell he had several more tattoos—a small line of words on his chest that it was too dark to read, and what looked like a pirate flag on his ribs. 

“Mm, just warning you—I can get a little… mean.” San glanced up as he licked at the bite.

“Oh, yeah? I like mean,” Wooyoung laughed. “You gonna tie me up or some shit?”

San gave a thoughtful hum, the vibrations tickling Wooyoung’s skin. “Maybe later. What do you count as mean? I’m curious.”

“Mm, I dunno. Choke me, slap me, spit in my mouth, call me a whore. Make it memorable.” Wooyoung shrugged. 

“Oh, baby… that’s _nothing_.” San gave a soft laugh, quickly kissing up Wooyoung’s chest until his lips hovered just inches above Wooyoung’s, pulling up into a dark smile. One of his hands slid up to clamp around Wooyoung’s jaw. “Open up.”

Wooyoung happily obeyed, sliding his tongue out, the bar of his piercing knocking softly against his bottom teeth. San spat onto his tongue, an obscene trail of saliva clinging to his lips as it fell, which Wooyoung eagerly licked away. He closed his mouth and swallowed, batting his eyelashes as he held San’s gaze. San hissed out a curse under his breath. 

“You want me to be mean?” San’s eyes visibly darkened, glaring down at Wooyoung like a juicy piece of meat. “I bet I could make you cry.”

“Bold words for someone who cried on my couch less than an hour ago.”

“What if I told you to shut your dumb slut mouth before I shut it for you?” San spat, tightening his grip on Wooyoung’s jaw.

Wooyoung’s smile immediately faded, a shiver running down his spine at the seriousness of San’s gaze. Wooyoung swallowed, speechless, and San’s lips curved up into a wicked smile. He’d gone from zero to one hundred in about four seconds, and Wooyoung was all about it. If he’d known his dorky regular from the store was like this in bed, well… he’d have hopped on that train _much_ sooner. 

“Oh, yeah? That was easy. You like being put in your place?” San’s hand slid down from Wooyoung’s jaw to his throat, squeezing with his fingertips until Wooyoung’s heart pounded in his ears and his vision went hazy. 

“Ah—” Wooyoung choked out a feeble moan as San crushed his throat with a tattooed hand, his eyelashes fluttering as his eyes drifted back on their own.

San released him, cursing under his breath. “Fuck, you’re gonna drive me crazy. One thing, first—I owe you a favor for bringing me home with you.” San’s fierce glare melted into something softer, more caring. The way he switched gears like that made Wooyoung’s head spin—it was a little eerie, and super fucking hot. 

“You don’t _owe_ me—” Wooyoung croaked, cutting himself off by biting back a moan as San wrapped a hand around his cock. 

“Let me show you all the tricks I can do with my tongue.” San flashed a mischievous glance as he slid down to eye-level with Wooyoung’s hips, poking his tongue from the corner of his mouth.

He curled his hand around Wooyoung’s cock, stroking it in his palm as he licked and sucked along a pair of roses, dragging his teeth over one of Wooyoung’s hip bones. Wooyoung gasped out a laugh as it tickled, then a moan as San swiped over the head of his cock, smearing the droplet of precum with his thumb. He leaned over to suck at the base, teasing flicks of his forked tongue along the shaft. 

San looked up at him with a sinful smirk, thumbing over the head as he licked a long stripe up from the base, the two halves of his snake-like tongue curling around either side. It was kinda fascinating—Wooyoung had never gotten head from anyone with a split tongue before, and it was kind of a trip while stoned, to say the least. He was still a little upset at himself for not having noticed San had a fucking split tongue the entire time they’d known each other, but to be fair, Wooyoung hadn’t spent much time staring at his mouth. 

That was about to change, obviously. 

San wasn’t kidding about knowing how to use his tongue—each half like its own separate entity as it flicked and curled along Wooyoung’s cock, showing off his prowess with a sly, mischievous smirk. He licked all the way to the tip, sealing his mouth around the head, teasing it with the tips of his tongue until Wooyoung couldn’t help but moan aloud. 

“Oh, _fuck_ —” Wooyoung cursed as San flicked one pointed half of his tongue into his slit, pumping his hand along the shaft in slow strokes. Wooyoung instinctively curled his hands into San’s hair, still slightly damp from his shower and cool against his fingertips. 

“Kinda cool, right?” San looked up with a grin, giving a playful kiss to the head. 

“So fucking good,” Wooyoung sighed, laughing at the bizareness of the situation. He was still high as fuck, after all, and it was hilarious that his weird regular had somehow ended up between his legs, enthusiastically sucking him off. Not that he was complaining. 

San wrapped his lips around the shaft, curling his tongue along the underside, squeezing the base in his fist as he sank down. His lips touched his fist, sucking hard as he bobbed his head, pumping the shaft in his hand with a slight twist. His eyelashes fluttered as he cracked his eyes open to look up, locking his sultry gaze on Wooyoung’s as he worked. 

He could feel San’s split tongue fluttering against his cock with each bob of his head, making Wooyoung tighten his fingers against San’s scalp with a string of breathy curses. San pulled his hand away, letting himself sink all the way down to the base, his brows pinched with effort as Wooyoung’s cock nudged the back of his throat. 

“Fuck,” Wooyoung gritted, his cock twitching as San swallowed around the head with a dirty moan, the vibrations shooting up his shaft and making Wooyoung lose his damn mind. San pulled off, his lips swollen and glazed with saliva, one corner of his mouth pulled up into a devious smirk. 

“I wanna eat you out,” San purred as he slid his hands underneath Wooyoung’s thighs, pushing them up toward his chest. Wooyoung opened his mouth to respond, but he cut himself off with a moan as San sank his teeth into the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh. 

Wooyoung hooked his hands under his knees to keep his legs up, lewdly displaying his ass for San, who gave a hungry growl as he shoved his head between Wooyoung’s thighs. He dragged his tongue flat over Wooyoung’s entrance, then flicked it back downward, sealing his lips against it in an obscene, moaning kiss. Wooyoung could feel each half of his tongue brushing against his rim, twirling against him, splitting apart and licking around him before pressing inside.

“Oh, fuck, San—” Wooyoung gasped, releasing one of his knees to fist a hand in San’s hair. 

Wooyoung felt one half of San’s tongue push inside as the other half fluttered against his rim, expertly utilizing each side to its fullest, turning Wooyoung into a gasping mess against the sheets. It was like two people eating him out at once—one half hungrily tongue-fucking into him while the other teased and circled around the outside. 

San pulled back to plant a wet kiss against his entrance, letting both halves of his tongue come together to deliver quick kitten-licks before dragging it in a long, languid stroke. He pushed both halves inside, flicking in and out a few times before diving in deeper, fucking in as deep as he could go. Then, he split his tongue apart again, twisting and curling it around itself until Wooyoung was gripping at his hair for dear life. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Wooyoung practically wailed, his head falling back onto the pillow with a _thump_. He would cum in no time if San kept it up, and it seemed like he could tell. 

San pulled back, laughing in amusement as he placed another slow kiss against Wooyoung’s rim. He guided Wooyoung’s legs back down, letting them rest on either side of his shoulders as he raised his head, teasing his lip ring with his tongue. He leaned down to mouth over one of the roses on Wooyoung’s hip bone. 

“Lube?” San asked. 

“Yeah, hang on—” Wooyoung stretched his arm out, clumsily yanking his nightstand drawer open and rummaging around until he came back with a small bottle, which he tossed to San. “Here.”

San caught it, immediately popping the cap and flipping it over to squeeze a few drops onto his fingers. He pushed the bottle aside and rubbed his fingers together to coat them, then quirked a curious brow and raised them to his nose. He sniffed them, then looked up at Wooyoung with an amused grin. 

“Cherry?”

“There a problem with that?” Wooyoung challenged. 

“You’re so funny.” San shook his head and leaned back down, sucking wet kisses along the underside of Wooyoung’s shaft as he swiped his fingers against Wooyoung’s entrance. Wooyoung squirmed impatiently at the sensation, biting his lip as San circled the pads of his fingers around his rim. 

“I told you, I’m— _mh_ —full of surprises.”

“Fuck, baby,” San moaned, flicking his forked tongue along Wooyoung’s balls as he slid two fingers into him. He sealed his lips around one, sucking it into his mouth with a moan, the vibrations making Wooyoung bite his lip and tighten his fingers in San’s hair. “You’re so fucking tight. I want you to cum in my mouth.”

“Fuck— _ah_ —San, oh my god.”

Wooyoung had almost forgotten how amazing it felt to have sex while high—off dabs, no less. San only had two fingers inside of him, yet he was in heaven already, leaking all over his stomach as San dragged his _fucking_ split tongue along his shaft. Wooyoung still couldn’t wrap his brain around it—it almost didn’t feel real.

“Mm, I’ve thought _all_ kinds of filthy things about you, y’know. I think about bending you over the counter whenever you wear those tight little jeans, _god_ , your ass looks so fucking good in them. I wanna rip them off and fuck you right in the middle of your shift,” San purred, a sinful smirk pulling at his lips as he pushed his fingers all the way in. 

Using his other hand, San gripped the base of Wooyoung’s cock, bringing it toward his lips as he spoke. The fingers inside began to pump in and out, sliding with little resistance thanks to the obnoxiously sweet cherry-scented lube. San stuck his tongue out, curling the halves around the tip of Wooyoung’s cock, clearly making a show of it. 

“They’d catch us on camera, but that’s what makes it hot. I bet you’d like it—some security guard watching you get fucked stupid, drooling all over the counter, begging for more… _Fuck_ , you’re so tight. I love the sounds you make—I could do this all night.”

“S-San—”

San fucked the tip of Wooyoung’s cock through the halves of his tongue, his eyes deadly as they stayed locked on Wooyoung’s. He could feel San’s lip ring bumping against the head as the smirk on his face widened, clearly enjoying the way he made Wooyoung come apart. His fingers found a rhythm that had Wooyoung squirming against his hand, rocking into him with a slight arch, the pads of his fingers dragging up toward his stomach. 

Wooyoung was close—he could feel himself leaking onto San’s tongue, his cock twitching against his lips whenever his fingers hit just right. His skin was on fire, sweat beading along his hairline as he lost himself in San’s touch, writhing and clawing at the sheets with one hand, the other fisting into San’s hair hard enough to draw a low groan from his throat. 

“Cum for me, baby,” San purred, wrapping his lips around the head and sinking all the way to the base in one fluid motion. 

“ _Fuck_ —” Wooyoung cried as San took every inch of his cock, pounding hard with his fingers as he quickly sucked along the shaft, and Wooyoung could feel the tip hit the back of San’s throat with every bob of his head. 

Wooyoung came hard, his fingers digging at San’s scalp as he spilled into his mouth, a ruined moan clawing its way from his throat as San worked him through his climax. San sealed his lips around the head as Wooyoung came, sucking up every drop until Wooyoung was practically convulsing from overstimulation, slipping his fingers out with a wet, nasty sound. 

San pulled off with a satisfied moan, sliding up to brace one elbow by Wooyoung’s head while the other grasped around his throat, squeezing just enough for Wooyoung’s parted lips to open a little further. San pushed their lips together, and Wooyoung felt the hot, viscous dribble of his own cum as San spat it into his mouth. 

Wooyoung whined as San dipped his tongue into his mouth, forcing him to swallow it all as it slid to the back of his throat. He did so, eagerly, licking into San’s mouth to taste every drop. San growled low in his throat, tightening his hand on Wooyoung’s throat as Wooyoung cleaned every drop of himself from San’s tongue, pulling back with an amused grin. 

“Good little whore,” San praised, and Wooyoung melted immediately. “You like it rough, huh?” San leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of Wooyoung’s ear. “Because I’m serious about making you cry. Safeword?”

Wooyoung hummed in thought, still a little breathless, suppressing a shiver of excitement at the way San’s tone dropped. “Fiji?”

“Fiji?” San laughed. “That’s kinda cute. I like it. Anything I should be aware of that you’re not cool with?”

Wooyoung smirked. “Vanilla.” 

San’s eyebrows shot up in amusement. “You’re kind of a freak, huh? I love that,” San purred, sinking his teeth into Wooyoung’s collarbone again, creating a new welt of red. “So am I.”

“I wanna play with your piercing,” Wooyoung whined, sliding a hand down San’s chest in a path to his dick. 

San seized his wrist, locking eyes with Wooyoung in a dead-serious glare. “You think you get to touch me after all those times you turned me down?”

Wooyoung swallowed, his eyes going wide. “H-huh?”

“You just like all the attention, don’t you? You like being a little tease, with your eyeliner, and your damn tongue piercing—give it to me.” San released his wrist to squish Wooyoung’s face between his fingers, looking down at him with an expectant stare. Wooyoung looked up at him, dumbfounded, until San spoke again. “Did you not hear me? I said _give—it_.” 

San crushed his jaw in his hand, his words gritted through his teeth like he was scolding a disobedient dog. Then Wooyoung understood, and parted his lips to slide his tongue from his mouth until San could hook two fingers behind the barbell and use it to drag it out. San’s lips curled into a sadistic smile as Wooyoung made a pathetic noise of discomfort, his eyebrows knitting together as San stretched his tongue past his lips. 

“God, the amount of times I’ve thought about it—you on your knees for me, using that tongue piercing like a good little bitch. I bet you’d sound so pretty choking on my cock. Or, better yet… I wonder how pretty you’ll sound when I fuck you.” 

Wooyoung outright whined, a humiliating streak of drool running down his chin as San kept his fingers firmly hooked around the bar. San slid his free hand over Wooyoung’s chest, thumbing over one of the piercings in small, agonizingly gentle strokes. Wooyoung was getting hard again, his dick responding all too readily to whatever San dished out. San gave his nipple a hard pinch, and another pathetic whine fell from Wooyoung’s lips, as well as a string of drool. 

“What, you gonna cum again just from having your nipples played with?” San mocked.

“A-ah—” Wooyoung squeezed his eyes shut, feeling them threaten to tear up from the strain of having his tongue stretched for so long. San finally let go, letting it slip back into Wooyoung’s mouth, but not without an embarrassing amount of drool escaping down his chin. 

“You wanna touch me that bad?”

Wooyoung feared his voice wouldn’t work, so he opted for a silent, enthusiastic nod. 

“Huh?” San tilted his head like he was hard of hearing. 

“Please,” Wooyoung whispered, his voice breaking a little. He imagined San at the store, smiling around a can of Rockstar as he dorkily quoted lines from _Spinal Tap_. Was this the same person? 

San grabbed Wooyoung by the hair and dragged his face in close. “You think I should let you put your filthy little mouth on my cock? Why?”

“I—b-because—” Wooyoung stuttered.

“Can’t even answer?”

“P-please. I… I want it.”

A smile spread across San’s face, his voice dropping low. “Then you’re gonna take every—last—inch—you got that?” He let each word roll off his tongue in a slow drawl, almost like a threat. Wooyoung nodded again, and San released his hair, sitting back on his knees to let Wooyoung up. 

San stood up off the mattress and slipped his pants off, tossing them aside. His dick sprang free, and sure enough, he had a frenum—a little barbell underneath the head of his cock, shining silver in the dim light. Not only that, but his dick itself was fucking beautiful—the head a soft, glossy pink, perfectly flared and slightly curved toward his stomach. His chin was already smeared with spit from San keeping his tongue hostage, but the sight alone made him want to drool. 

Wooyoung crawled to his knees, settling on all fours in front of San’s dick. He’d promised San he’d take every inch, but looking at it now… Wooyoung knew it was going to be tough. Wooyoung leaned in to drag his tongue across the piercing, but a hand cupping his chin stopped him short. 

San stared down at him, clicking his tongue in disappointment. “I didn’t give you permission yet, did I?”

The barbell was teasing him, beckoning him in, and San seemed to know. Wooyoung swallowed, blinking up at him. His brain felt fried, and not from the dabs.

“Can I…” 

“Louder.”

“Can I suck your dick?” Wooyoung felt his cheeks heating up in embarrassment. 

“There you go. Go ahead, baby.” San released Wooyoung’s chin. 

Wooyoung stuck his tongue out, licking along the barbell under the head of San’s cock, knocking their piercings together with a soft click. He dragged his tongue back and forth a couple times, getting a feel for the piercing, flicking and sliding it around beneath the skin. San let out a soft moan, threading his fingers in Wooyoung’s hair. Wooyoung gripped the base of San’s cock in his hand, tilting it up to allow himself to seal his lips around the piercing, sucking at it with an eagerness that had San tightening his fingers in Wooyoung’s hair. 

“Good boy,” San breathed, and Wooyoung felt a shiver run down his spine at the praise. 

Wooyoung took the head into his mouth, fluttering his eyes open to look up at San as he sank onto it, pushing his head forward until he felt the tip hit the back of his throat. He let his hands fall to the bed, sitting dog-like in front of San as he stretched his lips around the base. Wooyoung fought off a gag, squeezing his thumbs in his fists to stave off his gag reflex—an old hoe life-hack he had to whip out when San’s dick proved slightly too lengthy for his rusty skills to handle. 

“Fuck,” San gritted, pushing the back of Wooyoung’s head to make him take the remaining few centimeters, and Wooyoung had to blink away tears as his eyes grew watery from the strain. He could feel the foreign shape of the metal piercing scraping against the back of his tongue.

Keeping his grip locked on the back of Wooyoung’s head, San started giving shallow thrusts of his hips, groaning out praises when Wooyoung took it like a champ. Wooyoung hadn’t hooked up with anyone since the last time he’d been to a show—two months ago, give or take—but he was pleased to find his talent hadn’t faded much. 

“Oh, fuck—” The moan that San let out went straight to Wooyoung’s cock, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but whimper as San rolled his hips a little harder, fucking into his mouth until he started to choke. 

San released Wooyoung’s hair, letting Wooyoung pull off with a dramatic gasp for air and a shiny string of saliva stuck to his lips. Wooyoung could feel how swollen his lips were, tingling from being stretched around San’s cock for so long. His throat ached from being fucked, but that didn’t stop him from leaning back in and running the ball of his piercing around the head, hearing San hiss out a curse as it dipped into the slit. 

Wooyoung was painfully hard again, so much so that he couldn’t stop himself from snaking a hand around to slide three fingers into his lube-slicked hole, whimpering around San’s cock as he felt a hand tugging at the roots of his hair. 

“Damn, you just can’t wait to have something in your tight little hole,” San laughed through his teeth. “So fucking pretty. Are you gonna fuck yourself like a good little whore?” 

“Ngh—” Wooyoung moaned as San pushed his head back onto his cock, making Wooyoung choke as it slammed into the back of his throat without warning. 

“Yeah? You like being called a whore?”

“Ah— _fuck_ —” Wooyoung gasped, pulling back for a brief oxygen break before San’s cock filled his mouth again. He pushed his fingers into himself as deep as they could go, rocking his hips onto his hand as he licked along the base of San’s cock, making sure to drag his piercing against San’s with every stroke. 

He could tell San was getting close from the way both of his hands fisted into Wooyoung’s hair so tight it stung, and the way his cock twitched against the back of his throat, rock-hard and pulsing against his tongue. 

“Oh, _fuck_ , baby,” San spat, his voice wrecked as he grew close to the edge. Wooyoung was already close, too—already sensitive from his last orgasm, his fingers pumping hard as he fisted his cock in his other hand, squeezing around the tip with every stroke. “Yeah? You gonna make yourself cum?”

Wooyoung couldn’t make words, only choked moans and whines as San fucked his throat, tears spilling down his cheeks and his eyelids fluttering as they struggled to stay open. His cock leaked stringy drops of precum onto his sheets, slicking his fist with each stroke as he pounded himself with his fingers, his wrist aching from the uncomfortable angle. It was getting hard to breathe, his chest heaving with effort with every labored breath through his nose. 

Suddenly, San yanked Wooyoung off, wrapping a hand around his cock and stroking it with a messy, erratic rhythm. “Cum for me,” he snarled, and Wooyoung stuck his tongue out as San jerked himself over the edge, painting Wooyoung’s face in hot streaks of his cum. 

San’s broken moan was all it took to make Wooyoung lose it, grinding his hips against his hand like a madman as he finger-fucked himself to completion, spilling all over his sheets with an obscene whine that was sure to make his neighbors hate him. His head fell back as he squeezed the head of his cock one last time, milking every last drop as he slid his fingers out, his wrist cramping in protest. 

“Shit, that’s so hot,” San breathed, tipping Wooyoung’s chin up with a gentle nudge, catching a drop of cum oozing down his cheek with his thumb. Wooyoung sealed his lips around it, licking it clean with a soft, sated sigh. “C’mere.”

San knelt on the bed in front of Wooyoung, tugging him closer by the waist, leaning in to lap up his own cum smeared across Wooyoung’s chin, his cheeks, the side of his nose. He kissed all over Wooyoung’s face until it was clean, sighing as he pressed his lips against Wooyoung’s for a lazy, languid kiss. 

Wooyoung felt boneless, snaking his hands around San’s shoulders to keep from melting into the bed. Between copious dab hits and two orgasms, he was fucking exhausted, and he was ready to fucking cuddle. He gave a tired groan against San’s lips, shifting all of his weight to one side so that they both toppled over onto the mattress, landing with a soft _oof_ in a tangle of sweaty, weed-numb limbs. 

Wooyoung laughed against San’s neck, fumbling for the comforter and yanking it over their naked bodies. San squeezed his arms around Wooyoung’s waist until he started to suffocate, coughing out a weak plea for mercy, and San relented with a cheeky grin. San opted to lay on his back, letting Wooyoung use his chest as a warm pillow, contentedly snuggling up with his head tucked underneath San’s chin. Wooyoung shivered as San lightly trailed his fingers along Wooyoung’s back, tracing patterns along his spine with his fingertips. 

“I can’t believe you made me cum twice,” Wooyoung mumbled, more a sleepy slur of syllables than anything else.

San kissed the top of his head. “You have the hottest o-face I have ever seen, by the way. I wanna see it again.”

“Mm, you just might—” Wooyoung lifted his head, giving San’s lip ring a playful bite. “‘Cause you’re not going _anywhere_.”

San laughed against his lips. “You’ve taken me hostage?”

“You can’t tongue-fuck me like that and expect me _not_ to chain you to my bed.”

“Ooh, I get to be your sex slave? That’s kinda hot, I’m into it. Unless you wanna be _mine_ ,” San growled playfully into his ear. 

“Where do I sign? I was serious about you tying me up, by the way.”

San’s grin oozed with mischief. “Good, ‘cause I was serious about making you cry.”

  


  


✖

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanna say the google doc for this ch was exactly 27 pages and i did not plan that
> 
> and yes the squeezing your thumb thing really works 
> 
> twt @ yungwooyoung


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